


What Once Was

by ManInAMask01



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alcohol, Blood and Injury, F/M, Julian being a subby boi, Nudity, Scars, hot makeout sessions, steamy bits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:09:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 55,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23027578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManInAMask01/pseuds/ManInAMask01
Summary: Everything was simple. Asra was going on one of his many journeys so Armyah would have to watch their magic shop. Until she was visited by a hooded stranger and threatened by a man in a mask...could they be the key to unlocking her missing memories?
Relationships: Apprentice/Julian Devorak
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey…so this is my first time posting here, but I hope you like it! I accept comments and constructive criticism so feel free to message or ask me something! Thanks!

All of Vesuvia was dark, the only light was from the full moon hanging heavily over the city. Stray cats slink through the foggy allies, sniffing out fat rats rooting in garbage left haphazardly by the previous residents in the marketplace early that day. Forgotten fruit fallen from stands were feasted upon by vermin until they quickly scurried away from the carriage wheel that rattled through the main street. The carriage held a cloaked figure wringing their hands nervously hoping that they would find the answers they seek. The large bells from the temple chimed twelve times. Midnight. The brassy tones resonated through the sleeping city, but there was one household who was yet asleep. Armyah looked at her teacher, his travel bag packed to almost full capacity.

“Do you have to go?” she whispered, pitifully. He didn’t tell her where he was going…he never does. As much as it irritates her how vague and mysterious he is it’s what makes him…him. Asra’s sharp violet eyes soften as he takes her face into his hands.

“Yes…” that was a lie, he didn’t have to go anywhere. ‘It’s better this way,’ the thought, ‘for both of us’. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t want to pour his heart out to her, tell her about all those years ago before she lost her memories. Make her remember…but he refrains. If he were to do so she would surely go catatonic, possibly die. No, he would rather have her in this state, ignorant to those times rather than lose her ‘…again’.

“I’ll miss you…” he said softly. He always left in the middle of the night whenever he went on a journey. “Best time for beginning a journey!” he would say, eyes twinkling. He takes his hands from her face and digs into his travel bag, “here…take this.” He places his tarot cards in her hands and closed his around them. Her dark, doe-like eyes flickered to his face.

“You really think I’m ready?” His warm smile faltered a bit, she was always unsure of herself. He knew she was talented in magic and fortune-telling alike, but she never saw it. He could tell she was destined for great things.

“You know I can’t answer that for you.” He looked away from her, gazing intently on the wall behind her, “you’ve made incredible progress, but you still won’t let go of your doubt.” His eyes met her chocolate ones and he smiled encouragingly, “most importantly: do you think you’re ready?”

“Why don’t you ever answer my questions?” she sighed, defeated. It was late, she was too tired for his cryptic riddles.

“I don’t?” he smiled, knowingly, “well, I may not have all the answers you seek. But I know who does.” He pushed her hands toward her, his deck still in them. The Arcana. He consults the cards for everything, she could swear she caught him asking them what he should have for breakfast one morning. “And you do know how to use them whether you believe it or not.” He releases his hands from hers and pulls back the curtain leading to the back room, the room where he does readings. “Let’s see how well you’ve learned.” She steps through the curtain and he follows letting the fabric fall behind him. “It’s been a while since we’ve practiced,” he mused.

“Because you’re always gone?” She said, bitterly. She had meant for it to be under her breath, but part of her was glad he heard. That same part reveled in the flush that creeped across the tan skin of his face as he looked to his feet.

“Maybe…” He didn’t like leaving, but he knew it was for her own good. Or that what he told himself to make it easier for him to go, “someday you’ll find a real teacher…well, I’m here now” He looked at her for a moment like he was going to say something, but he thought better of it. He shook out his shaggy white hair, “let’s see how powerful you’ve become.” He was always talking about how powerful and gifted she was. Armyah sighed as she sat on the bench in the alcove, shuffling the deck. Asra sat across from her watching her graceful hands as they danced around the cards.

“Oh!” he gasped, something cool and smooth brushed along they’re ankles, “we’re not alone.” A lavender snake with ruby eyes twists its way onto Asra’s shoulders. Faust, his familiar. Her eyes smile at the dark-haired girl across from her. Asra smiled as he scratched the serpent under her chin, “if we’re all here…let’s begin.”

Armyah finishes shuffling and pulls three cards from the top of the deck. She arranges them in front on her teacher in a triangle for him to choose. He taps his finger on the one closest to her on her right. She flips the card to show him.

“The High Priestess…” she looks at the owl-like figure on the card. Immediately, a fog comes over her vision and it almost feels as if she’s dreaming. She’s not afraid, though…it’s always like this when the cards speak to her.

“And what is she telling you?” he leans in, expectantly, waiting for her revelation. Asra’s voice echoes in her ears, almost as if he is talking to her from across a wide cavern. “She’s speaking to you now, isn’t she?” Armyah doesn’t answer, she’s focused on the whispers that surround her. When the cards speak to her it’s not in any human tongue. She feels overtaken as she opens her mouth and the words fall from her lips.

“You’ve forsaken her,” it’s her voice, but she isn’t speaking. Her mouth is moving, but it’s not her words, “you’ve pushed her away and buried her voice.” She sounds strained, desperate, “she calls out to you, but you won’t listen.” Armyah’s dark, glazed-over eyes don’t leave the card, but her tone is practically begging, “Asra, if you don’t listen to her-” A sharp knocking brakes her trance and startles all three of them. Armyah swore she put out the lantern.

“I wonder who that could be…” he trailed off looking curiously at the door before shaking his head, rising from the table, “just as well, I can’t stay any longer.” He lifts his bag onto his shoulder and grabs his hat off the hook, a wide-brimmed, dramatic thing with a large red and green feather sticking out of it. He pulls Armyah into a tight hug, she returns it with just as much enthusiasm. It’s always hard when he leaves, he’s the first thing she saw when she woke up from her stasis three years ago. Any part of her life before then has been lost to her.

“Take care of yourself,” he says as he releases her from his embrace. He has something else to say, but he doesn’t say it. He places his hat atop his head and pulls his scarf over his mouth and nose, “until we meet again.” Gods only know when that will be…he never says how long he’ll be gone. He pulls back the curtain and silently slips out the back door into the night.

And, like that, he’s gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Brief mentions of blood

‘A customer?’ Armyah thought, curiously, ‘at this hour?’ Another sharp knock made her jump a bit. They sounded impatient. She pressed her cheek against the coarse wood grain of the door and peered through the small peephole. The figure was covered by a shawl, she could make out any features in the dark. She did, however, forget to put the lantern out. Not even the firelight could cast any clarity on the mysterious stranger outside of the door. Though, the dim light glinted on jewels covering her fingers. Hesitantly, Armyah opened the door and peaked her head out from behind it.

“Can…can I help you?” she asked timidly. The stranger raised their eyebrows at the young woman, but then gave a look of desperate relief as if she found what she was looking for.

“Forgive me for the hour, but I will not suffer another sleepless night,” they stepped past the magician, unwrapping their shawl from their neck, “please, you must read the cards for me.” The shawl falls to their shoulders and tyrian purple hair cascades down their back. Armyah’s heart threatens to beat out of her chest as the identity of the stranger is revealed. The Countess of Vesuvia was standing in front of her in her shop!

“You’ve…come to…to the right place,” Armyah stutters, unsure how to act around royalty. The Countess looks desperate, anxious. She looks away from the young magician.

“So I’m told…your reputation precedes you. Beggars and nobles alike,” she’s most likely talking about Asra, “the people of this city whisper your name in wonder.” The Countess looks back at Armyah, a hint of a smile on her elegant lips, “Though, in my dreams you were…different.” She stares for a moment before frowning and shaking her head, “No matter. I come with a proposal.”

“Proposal?” Armyah questioned, she wasn’t sure that she would like this…proposal. Nevertheless, the Countess seemed amused.

“Not very talkative, are you?” she chuckled, “nervous, perhaps?” Armyah stiffened, suddenly feeling very naked under the Countess’s piercing gaze. “You needn’t be. I require very little of you.” Armyah wasn’t sure of these circumstances, but whatever the offer may be she’s too afraid to refuse the Countess. “Be my guest at the palace for a short while. You will be afforded every luxury, of course. It is as my dreams foretold.” There was something she wasn’t telling the apprentice, it seemed very unlikely a Countess herself would come to a humble shop in the dead of night to invite her to the palace.

“Why?” Armyah challenged. The Countess arched her brow, surprised that her request was questioned. Then, she smiled.

“I have need of your skill in communicating with the Arcana,” it was still a vague answer, but it was good enough for the fortune-teller. Mostly, she was impressed that the Countess referred to the representations on the cards as the “Arcana”. She had only used or heard the word in conversation with her teacher…perhaps the Countess knew Asra.

“Alright…” Armyah nodded, tentatively, “I’ll do it.” The Countess was obviously pleased with her response.

“You have chosen wisely, magician,” she smirked, “I will alert the guards to expect you tomorrow. But before that I want to see these talents of your myself.” She gestured a long, graceful arm toward the curtain leading to the back room. “Shall we do a reading?” Under her imperious gaze, Armyah pulled back the fabric and ushered the Countess to the alcove.

The Countess settled herself onto the bench, her ruby eyes darting all around the small space. Armyah sat across from her and began shuffling. After taking in her surroundings, the Countess set her gaze on the cards sliding between the fortune-teller’s fingers. She closed her eyes and folded her hands in front of her as Armyah chose the first three cards from the deck and placed them between them, just as she had with Asra before he left. The Countess opened her eyes and reached for the card closest to her, flipping it face-up herself showing the fox-like character.

“The Magician…” Armyah said softly.

“How very appropriate,” the royal client mused. She peers down at the card, studying its features, “And what does he hold for me?” Strangely, the clouds that formed around Armyah’s vision was comforting…familiar. The whispers of the cards flooded her senses and the words effortlessly came to her lips.

“You have a plan…” she breathed, “One that is long in the making…. years upon years. Now, you seek to set it in motion.”

“And?” the Countess urged, “Should I move?” Her eyes flashed brilliantly in the lamplight. Armyah’s dark, glassy eyes flickered from the card to the Countess’s face and stares for a moment…unblinking.

“Yes.” The Countess shifts in her seat, perturbed by the magician’s gaze. As though she were staring through her. “Act now. Everything has fallen into place.” The other woman smiles, satisfied.

“Say no more.” She stands up abruptly, the sudden movement breaking Armyah out of her daze. She strides purposefully through the curtain and into the storefront, the young woman scrambling to her feet to follow. When she passed through the fabric, the Countess was already wrapping the shawl around her face. “Your fortunes are simple. Much the same as the others I’ve heard. And yet…” She pauses, flashing a small smile, “you are the first to piques my interest.” Armyah flushes under the tall woman’s piercing stare. The Countess resumes her work in cover her head. She looks to the door and back to the magician expectantly. “Ahem.” Armyah practically trips over her feet to reach he door. The Countess looks amused. “Until tomorrow, then,” she strides elegantly past the fortune-teller, “Pleasant dreams.”

For a moment, Armyah is frozen looking out into the mist even though the shape of the Countess had long since disappeared. Sighing and shaking her head, she closes the heavy wooden door and leans against it. What could the Countess want with a mere apprentice? What did she mean about her “reputation”? Surely, she was referring to Asra…

“Strange hours for a shop to keep…” Armyah whipped around. Who said that? Her eyes darted around to find the source of the voice but found only the empty shop. She must’ve been tired; she was jumping at shadows. She takes a few hesitant steps forward, still looking around just in case it wasn’t her mind playing tricks on her. “Behind you.” The magician turns sharply only to collide with a tall figure leaning casually against the door, arms crossed under a large black coat. She staggers backward, looking up at the intruder’s face to be met with the cold, glass eyes of a plague doctor’s mask staring back at her. “Now…” they push off the door and step toward the young woman, “sources say this is a witch’s lair. So, who might you be?” They advance toward her, reaching out. She seizes the chance and ducks under their arm to escape, but they’re too quick for her.

“Up up up. Not so fast,” the masked stranger caught her wrist in a firm grip and pulls her back to their chest. The beak of the mask curves ominously over her head and she shivers as their breath ghosts over the shell of her ear. “Tell me where he is, and I’ll let you go,” they bargained. In a surge of valor, Armyah rears her head back, bashing it against the nose and mouth of the intruder. They release her arm with a pained cry as his hand flew to cover his now bleeding nose. She makes a break for the back room, the trespasser right behind her. The door is within arm’s length, but she’s snatched away by the scruff of her hand-made tunic. “You’re a slippery one,” they mused as they spin her to face them and pin her to the wall by her shoulders. Her chocolate eyes glower as she looks up to face her captor for the first time.

Her expression softens, her eyebrows knit together in confusion. She knew this man once…everyone did. “Oh, you recognize me?” he smirks roguishly, wiping the blood from his nose on the back of his gloved hand, “then you know the trouble you’re in.”

“Doctor Jules…?” she more so wondered aloud. Armyah winces at the stabbing pain behind her eyes. Of course she recognized him, how could she not? Even with blood smeared on his upper lip it was the same face, eyepatch and all, was plastered all over town under the tile: WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE. Doctor Julian Devorak…the physician wanted for the murder of the Count of Vesuvia. His thick eyebrows flew up in surprise.

“Haven’t heard that name in years…” he mused. He quickly shook away whatever thoughts plagued his mind and scowled at the magician, “Quickly now!” He brought his face inches from hers. “Where. Is. The witch?”

She glared indignantly at the doctor, “I’ll never talk!” Even if she did know where Asra was going she wasn’t about to tell the likes of him. He chuckles, releasing her shoulders from his grip and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh, you’ll never talk?” he asked mockingly, “how many times have I heard that before? Never say never, shop keep.” They stood there, neither breaking their glare from the other. Julian was the first to tear his icy gaze to survey the room around them. “This is where you tell fortunes, isn’t it?” he raises an inquisitive eyebrow at the young woman. She doesn’t move or say anything, she doesn’t even acknowledge he said anything…she just scowls. To her surprise, he plops down onto the bench of the reading table, his lanky frame loomed fearsomely over it. He gave a sideways glance toward the fortune-teller, “Perhaps your cards can do the talking, eh?” Hesitantly, she walks over to the table eyes never leaving the wanted man. His good eye tracked her every move as she slowly sank into the seat across from him, but she made no move to get her cards.

“Go on,” he pressed, still smirking, “don’t be shy.” Armyah began to shuffle the tarot deck, her eyes never once breaking from the doctor. He watched her hands deftly work the cards and chose the top three cards and placed them between them in a triangle as she did with the Countess and waited for him to choose. He only stared at the cards…he looked back to the fortune-teller when he realized she was waiting on him. Her gaze flickered between him and the cards.

“Well?” she asked finally.

“Oh!” Julian flushed, embarrassed that he was caught unsure how to continue, “do I…do I just pick one?” She nodded. He flipped over the card closest to her on his left, once she saw the face on the card she suddenly went cold. She looked between the doctor and the card, eyes wide. There was no fog, no whispers…only the blood pounding in her ears.

“Death…” she breathed. His eyes went as wide as hers were, unsure what to think.

“Death?” he mirrored. He picked up the card with a gloved hand. His eyes narrowed, and that smirk was back, “Death?” he said again. He barked with uncontrollable laughter, sharp as ice. With a flick of his wrist he tossed the card back to her “You’ve got to be joking,” Armyah shook her head quickly. Death didn’t necessarily mean…death, it meant change, transformation. She jumped when his hands strike the table, and he rises to his feet. “Death cast her gaze on this wretch and turned away. She has no interest in an abomination like me.” He turns away from the fortune-teller with a flourish of his coat and gaits back to the shop. Armyah gathers her deck and follows the doctor, confused as to his reaction to the card. Suddenly, he whips around to face her, his expression serious.

“You’ve been hospitable, so I’ll let you in on a little secret: your witch friend will be back for you,” he warned, “He’s taught you his tricks. You may even say he cares for you.” She wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but she was slightly offended. She jumped a bit when he jabbed a gloved finger in her face, “But, when he returns…” He lifted his mask at her feet, staring sadly into its glassy red eyes. “Seek me out. For your own sake. That creature is far more dangerous than you know.” When thinking of Asra “dangerous” isn’t a word that comes to mind. Even so, Armyah took whatever the doctor said with a gain of salt…he’s given no reason for her to trust him. “Well, then…the hour is late and I’m out of time.” He gives the magician a long, hard look before fixing his mask into place and turning toward the door and heaving it open. He stares out into the early morning fog for a moment, then glances over his shoulder. “Don’t let him fool you, shop keep.” The heavy door slams behind him as he disappears into the darkness. She scoffs at his warnings, but somewhere in the back of her mind there’s a sneaking suspicion.

This is not the last she was going to see of Julian Devorak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know how I'm doing! Visit me at tumblr.com/polynymph


	3. Chapter 3

Armyah spent the rest of the night jumping at every shadow. Seeking a distraction, she began to ready her bag to travel to the palace in the morning. Packing essentials like soaps and oils, a simple chemise for sleeping, a vial of water from a weeping willow (Asra’s secret for skin care), an ivory comb, a small sewing kit and, of course, the tarot deck. Satisfied with her luggage, she shuffled wearily to the bedroom above the shop and changed into her nightdress. Her knees trembled at the sight of her bed, the thought of flopping into the cozy quilt Arsa had made for her was practically sinful. She doesn’t remember falling asleep, just the feeling of the soft pillow beneath her head allowed her mind slip away peacefully, losing itself in a dream…

The sky was no more than a slim, green line along the endless horizon. Rust-colored sand stretched on for miles beneath her. It seemed to never end. Armyah looked to the viridescent sky, there was no moon or sun, dark clouds hang heavily in the sky, but small stars dotted at the same time…it appears it was a bizarre mixture of day and night here. Beside her, there is a many-legged creature unlike anything she’s ever seen and yet it seems so familiar. Atop the strange beast is Asra, his hair is tousled from the wind…but Armyah had yet to feel any sort of breeze.

“Where are we?” she asked aloud, but more to herself. The clouds bare down all around the landscape, shifting the dunes below them. Ahead, a road of perfect obsidian stone materialized before the pair. Arsa pulled the scarf from his over his mouth.

“I dare not tell you.” The magician looked at his apprentice, flashing a reassuring smiling, “If I did, you’d have to promise me never to seek this path.” He looked away from her. She must’ve been mistaken, but he looked…dejected. “Not even I am such a hypocrite as that, Armyah.” She was sure she had never walked this road before, and yet the sight of it felt like an old nightmare. She squints to see ahead more clearly, trying to see where this strange road leads, but the path keeps shifting. “Soon there will be a crossroads,” Arsa explained, pulling her from her thoughts.

“Where will they lead?” She doesn’t tear her eyes away from the ever-changing path in front of her. She didn’t see a crossroads, but she was beginning to think he didn’t mean it literally.

“Depends,” he chuckles, “which path will you take?” She turned to him, confused, but he didn’t return her gaze. He was staring straight ahead, unaffected by the road constantly shifting. He seemed confident in where he was going. He looked at her, still smiling. His mouth didn’t move, but she could hear his voice echo in her mind, “sleep…”

Armyah wakes with a gasp, jolting straight up. She’s in her bed above the shop. No strange beast, no sand…no Asra. She looks to her teacher’s empty bed. It wasn’t made, it never is. That way it was always ready for him to fall into when he was tired. Asra had a strange sleep schedule: he’d either sleep for ten minutes or ten hours…there was no in-between. Early dawn filtered through the dusty windows, bathing the magician in golden light. Still groggy from sleep, she peeled back the quilt and swung her olive-toned legs over the edge of the bed, wincing at the feeling of her toes touching the cold floor. She pulled on the name hand-made tunic and patchwork skirt from the night before. They were slightly wrinkled, but she didn’t have anything better. She slipped on her shoes and ran down the creaking wooden stairs to grab her shawl and travel bag. After slicing a piece of crusty bread from the cupboard for the road, she heaved the heavy wooden door open and stepped into the bright street.

You wouldn’t even recognize the city in the daylight. The streets were bustling with people everywhere, a far cry from the deserted marketplace from the night before. After the break-in last night, Arymah locked all three iron locks for the first time in a while. For good measure, she pressed her right hand against the woodgrain and whispered a cross-me-not spell. Dull light flashed between the grooves beneath her palm and rippled over the entire door in Asra’s intricate design patterns. White whorls glow deep within the door, slowly fading into the grain.

“The shop will be fine…” she assures herself, “everything will be fine.” She pulls her shawl tighter around her shoulders and steps out onto the busy street. Turning toward the ally way that leads toward the Center City Market, the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. There, right where she needs to go, is a dark shape, looming under a hood. At first, she doesn’t realize she is looking at a human. They’re monstrous in size, flesh scored with scars of all shapes and sizes. Shrouded in a pall of weather-beaten furs, it’s hard to make out the figure’s face, but they’re watching her…waiting for her to walk their way. Of course, they’re standing between the magician and the path she needs to take. She takes a few testing steps, watching the person cautiously. Stormy green eyes follow her every movement as she carefully treads past them, but they make no movement.

“You are in grave danger…” a voice like distant thunder rumbles from under the cloak. Armyah freezes, she doesn’t even turn toward the figure, “he will return uninvited. He will offer you a gift, when you need it most…” She looks to the stranger in the ally, the overwhelming aroma of myrrh floods her senses, “Turn it away or you will fall into his hand…just like the rest of us.” Before the fortune-teller is able to ask who they’re taking about, they shuffle away into the shadows of the surrounding buildings, all that’s left is the sound of dragging chains. Shaking her head, she strides onward to the lively market.

Wood groans beneath her feet as she steps carefully onto the walkway that covers the gaps from the aqueducts leading down from the palace. Daylight seeps through the spaces between the worn planks, shimmering on the water that flows below. Red paper lanterns hang from the rafters above, catching the sunlight and dotting the ground below with crimson. It’s early, but the marketplace is wide awake and flush with people. Vendors peddling their wares, bantering and laughing with travelers and citizens alike; rugs, jewelry, pottery, fresh produce, you name it. A voice Armyah knows well calls out to her over the noise of the crowds.

“Armyah!” Selasi, the baker beckons the magician over to his stall, “Have you eaten? I’ve got that pumpkin loaf you like in the oven. Won’t be long now.” Her stomach twists at the thought of fresh pumpkin bread. That meager breakfast she had did nothing to quell her hunger. “Come, sit down, talk for a while!” As much as she would love to, she should probably head straight for the palace.

“Sorry, Selasi! I’m on important business!” she jerks a thumb toward the palace standing watch over the small city. The baker’s eyes go wide in wonder.

“So, it’s true?” he asks. Armyah nods, she’s not surprised he’s heard something. Gossip travels faster in this city than the plague. “Not funny,” she thought to herself. “Well, you wouldn’t want to keep anyone waiting,” he winks, ducking back into his sweet-smelling booth. She weaves through the crowd to find a clear path between the surge of peasant workers heading to their morning labor. A sharp cry from above the fortune-teller causes her to jump. Her gaze shoots up, using her hand as a visor to block the sun so she can spot the cause of the cry. A raven perched overhead, and it seems to be looking right at her. When she looks closer she notices it’s looking past her, over her shoulder. Curiously, she glances behind her…

Him.

Her heart stutters in shock. Doctor Devorak, mask-less, moves casually through the throng. Though, she’s close enough to see him unmistakably, the crowd between them is so dense he doesn’t spot her. She whips back, turning her back to him and ducks into the crowd. Maybe she can slip away without him seeing. “What’s he doing without a mask,” she thought, “In broad daylight…is he trying to get caught?” A chill ran through her spine…has he been following her? How long? Did he break in again while she was sleeping? What does he want from her? She turns so she can just see behind her from her peripheral vision, just to see if she had been spotted. The raven screeches yet again, initiating another jolt from the young magician. The doctor’s good eye draws toward the bird, toward her. She turns a bit more to see him more clearly, heart pounding. The crowd may as well have disappeared as a gray eye meets chocolate eyes. He looks…surprised to see her. Maybe he wasn’t following her, maybe it’s a coincidence that he’s here. Her thoughts dissipate as she realizes that he started walking toward her, weaving through the mob, eye never leaving her. However, she knows this marketplace. She knows where to turn, where to hide. She dashes between the booths to an alleyway, not daring to look back. She rushes up a narrow, tightly-packed stairway, too afraid to stop in case the man decides to give chase. She doesn’t notice the young woman emerging from a fortune-teller’s booth muttering under her breath.

“Three-six-seven-nine,” she chants, “three-six-seven-nine, three-six-sev-ACK!” Armyah collides with the girl causing the basket on her hip to fall, sending a dozen pomegranates rolling down the stairs. “Perfect! As if I wasn’t already late…” she huffed impatiently. The magician drops to help.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “I wasn’t watching where I was going…” These were luxurious fruits. It’s unusual to buy them in bulk. One rolled onto the street, threatening to be stomped by a stray hoof. Armyah runs to grab it, forgetting to check for the reason she ran into the side street in the first place. She swipes it at the last second and hands it back to the girl, her eyes sparkling with delight.

“Don’t worry about it,” she smiles, “I wasn’t really looking either. It’s sweet of you to help!” Together, they hunt down the rest of the fruit, nearly being trampled while maneuvering through the steadily growing foot traffic. “I can’t thank you enough!” She rises to her feet and offers Armyah a hand to help her up. Her small hand is rough and calloused, her grip is strong. “I probably shouldn’t do this, but….” She takes a pomegranate from the basket, rubs it on her shoulder, and offers it to the magician. She takes it, not brave enough to tell the girl she’s never tried one and isn’t sure if she likes them. Hell, she doesn’t even know how to begin eating one! Do you just…bite it? Like an apple? The smile the girl gives her warms the young woman’s chest. “Take care, alright?” She winks and saunters off into the crowd. Armyah put the fruit into her bag.

“That was Portia, you know…” A rattling cough draws the magician’s attention. A fortune teller has moved to stand at the entrance of the booth the girl had come from and is eyeing Armyah with avid interest. The booth gave her a sense of nostalgia…the tapestries had moons and stars on them. Asra had a stall like this when she first woke up in his arms. “She’s the Countess’s favorite servant.” Armyah got excited, maybe she would see this Portia again once she gets to the palace. “As for you…you look like a wanderer, yes?” they beckon the magician toward their stand, “Would you like the fates spun for you?”

“No thanks,” Armyah chuckles, if she wanted her fortune read she’d ask her teacher to do it.

“As you wish,” they shrugged, “But know this…your fate will come to you either way.” A gold tooth glints in the sunlight, “A bright future awaits you.” Armyah smiles at the fortune-teller and nods her farewell. She took the advice with a grain of salt, but the notion of a bright future put a little sip in her step.

As the sun journeyed across the sky, Armyah climbed stair after seemingly infinite stair. The higher she ascends, the fewer travelers she encounters along the way…she must be deep in the Heart District. By the time she reaches the last stair her legs ache and her chest burns. It’s almost dark when she reaches the palace gates. She wipes the sweat from her sun-beaten brow and looks toward the towering gate of twisting iron. Beyond, the palace is glittering in the setting sun. “It’s even more beautiful up close,” she thought. It might have been the trek up the never-ending stairs, but she finds it difficult to catch her breath.

“Who goes there?” Two guards stand on either side of the winding gate, they were so still Armyah had mistaken them from designs in the ironwork.

“My name is Armyah,” she explained, “I have come at the request of the Countess.” The guards look at each other and the tips of her ear go red.

“Armyah?” The magician nodded. “We have no knowledge of you.” Armyah’s face grows hot. Now what was she supposed to do? The Countess said the guards would know. Does she just go home? “Unless you know the code, you must leave at once.”

“Code?” she wondered aloud? One guard folded their hands over the hilt of a planted sword.

“Yes, a series of four numbers,” they clarified, “If you do not know them, leave. We are not above violence or torture.” Armyah’s chest constricts and she swallows audibly. “When something catches your attention, there’s a reason” Asra’s words resonate through her mind, “If it feels like it has a special significance, it does.”

“I know the code,” she proclaimed. The guard nods for her to proceed, “It’s three-six-seven-nine.” The sequence of numbers Portia was mumbling before Armyah bumped into her. The guards look at each other again and, for a moment, Armyah considers bolting. However, her plans change once they each swing open their respective doors for her to enter. She nods confidently despite the chill down her spine and strides purposefully across the bridge. Her gait was broken when she hears the gate slam behind her. Was she going to be allowed out at all? She didn’t leave a note for when Asra came home…will he think she’s missing? Her fears dissolve when she hears a familiar voice.

“Can I help you?” It’s Portia! Armyah smiles at the friendly face as it light up at the sight of the magician,

“Oh! It’s you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know how I'm doing!  
> Find me at tumblr.com/polynymph


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

As the sun drops below the horizon, the palace is illuminated with gold. The tallest towers seemed to kiss the stars. Across the alabaster bridge is Portia, the Countess’s servant who Armyah ran into at the market earlier that day. She walks toward the magician, meeting her halfway.

“If you told me you were Armyah I would’ve escorted you to the palace!” she teased. Armyah simply smiled back, but then, movement caught the corner of her eye. Corkscrewing through the swirling waters below was come sort of creature. She leaned over the edge of the bridge to get a better look. Whatever it is, it’s glowing like a bloodless ghost in the sparkling moat. Its body was long and rippling, almost ribbon-like. “Something catch your eye?” Portia asked, catching up with the other woman. She leans over the edge next to the fortune-teller. Her eyes light up when she spots the wriggling creature in the water below. “Oh! Do you like animals?” she inquired excitedly. Armyah smiled at her and nodded. “Oh good! You’ll definitely enjoy your stay here.” She loops her arm through the magician’s and leads her the rest of the way across the bridge. “The palace is home to all kinds of exotic pets! But you don’t want to get too friendly with that one.” She jabbed her thumb in the direction of the creature they just saw. “That’s a vampire eel, imported from faraway swamps. No eyes or ears, but they’re still pretty graceful, don’t you think?” Armyah doesn’t say anything. Even she wanted to, she didn’t think she’d be able to get a word in edgewise. “Unless you splash around a lot, they won’t even bother you. But you wouldn’t want to catch a bite. If they bite, they don’t stop drinking until the body is dry…” The fortune-teller nods slowly, peering just over the parapet at the creature as it spirals into the billowing silt. Graceful isn’t a word she’d use for the eel…terrifying seemed pretty fitting, though. Portia occupies them both with meaningless conversation all the way to the intricate doors. As they get closer, Armyah’s stomach starts twisting. Uncertainties start to bubble like water coming to a boil over a fire. Was this a mistake?

“We’ve arrived,” Portia smiles brightly. For some reason, the other woman settles Arymah’s nerves with the most simplistic of gestures. She swings her fists against the copper plating on the doors resulting in three skull-rattling rings. The pendulous doors swing open after the last echo fades and she sweeps the magician inside the radiantly lit hallways. Inside is like a different world, everything is gleaming; the floors, the walls, steep ceilings, all clean-cut and polished stone. Lining the hall on either side are many servants, standing at attention in brilliant uniform. Armyah winces slightly, she suddenly feels underdressed in her dirty, hand-made clothing. The servant just inside the door reaches out to take her bag, but Armyah clutches it close to her, unwilling to let the cards out of her possession. A chorus of welcomes chime from the smiling faces in all directions, the magician’s eyes flick left and right uneasily at the greetings. When they reached the end of the line, one servant slips away to join the pair. A kind face with exaggerated features beams up at them as they bow deeply. Barely four feet tall, a brilliant cerulean feather stands proudly from their hat of purple velvet. “How are we doing on time?” Portia asks them.

“Impeccable timing!” they exclaimed, “the first course will be served shortly. Her ladyship has yet to descend.” Portia heaves a sigh of relief.

“Perfect, run and tell the kitchen that our guest has arrived,” she directs. The funny, small person salutes dramatically and slips away behind a panel in the wall which slides seamlessly shut behind them. “Well, well! It looks like we’ll be arriving right on time!” Portia gives the magician a knowing wink and gestures for her to follow, “Her ladyship will be joining us soon. I’ll show you to the dining room.” Armyah stopped dead in her tracks.

“Dining?” she gulped, audibly, “as in…me? Dining? With the Countess?” Portia only looks at the young woman a moment before barking out a hearty laugh.

“What? Don’t tell me you thought we wouldn’t feed you!” She giggles and pats Armyah on the shoulders in sympathy. “Don’t be shy. You’re the guest of honor!” Her words make the apprentice’s stomach flutter with everything but hunger. Nevertheless, she follows the servant’s purposeful stride to the dining room. Soon, they were standing before a fine, mahogany door and Portia turns to face her. “We’ll go in together, okay?” Not looking at her, Armyah takes a deep breath and nods. She heaves open the heavy doors and leads the fortune-teller inside.

Rich scents fill her senses, unfamiliar and tantalizing. A quintet dressed in gauzy evening gowns are playing a pleasant, ambling melody. Before her, an impossibly long table laid heavy with platters of the most careful delicacies. There are foods that Armyah has never seen nor dreamed of right here in front of her. Portia pulls out a chair for her and she sinks down into the plush seat, clutching her bag to her chest anxiously. Now that the food was right in front of her, teasing her, her stomach knots. She wants to dig in, but the Countess had yet to arrive…and everyone was watching her. It takes every ounce of her effort to tear her eyes away from the table, trying to focus on anything but the delicious spread inches away. Her gaze falls on a strange painting on the wall across from her. The scene is that of a meal shared among a host of figures with the heads of beasts. The table is laden with smaller animals, provided by a central character with the head of a goat. Rays of gold glitter around its head, and its red eyes are strikingly lifelike.

“Do you like the painting?” a sonorous voice asks.

“No…” Armyah replies dreamily, without thinking. A chiming laugh pulls her from her thoughts, whipping her head to the voice’s owner. The Countess takes her seat, just as graceful as she remembers from last night. She smiles at the magician placidly.

“Such honesty!” she proclaims, “I must confess that I do not like it either.” She sneers in the direction on the offending décor. “I find it sometimes spoils my appetite. So why does it remain on the wall, where I must look at it always, you ask?” A servant appears at Armyah’s side and presents a bowl of yogurt and cucumber soup before her. She lifts the bowl to her lips and drinks generously. “Sentimental value, I suppose,” the Countess continued, “It was one of my husband’s favorites.” The magician is taken aback at the mention of the late Count. She looks back to the painting, the goat-like character in the center somehow seems familiar. Its ruby eyes so vivid it looks almost as if they’re looking right back at her.

“Beautiful red,” she mutters absentmindedly, still slurping her soup.

“Ah yes…” The Countess muses, “It is a beautiful red. But, more to the point…you have a spoon, I recommend using it.” Armyah flushes crimson, her bowl is already empty at that point. She sets the elaborate dish down carefully and wipes her mouth on her sleeve, not daring to meet the Countess’s gaze. Amusement shimmers in her brilliant, ruby eyes. “As I was saying, the goat-headed one in the middle is supposed to be him. Providing for the people, as he saw himself.” She scoffed, “Well, he certainly knew how to entertain. Festivities at the palace her exhaustive…he loved to spoil his guests.” Armyah’s empty bowl was whisked away, replaced with a dish of flaky golden pastries with some sort of savory filling. The Countess watches with morbid curiosity as the magician devours them. “Tell me, Armyah…did you ever attend our Masquerade?” She blinks up at the Countess, mouth full. “I would imagine so. Our doors were open to all…up to a certain capacity.” Armyah chews her pastry slowly, uncertain how to answer. If she did ever attend, she doesn’t remember. The Masquerade was a party held each year in celebration of the Count’s birthday. All this talk of the past, she wonders if it has to do with why she was called here in the first place.

“I know it’s a difficult matter to discuss,” the Countess reassures her, “I know how fondly the people of Vesuvia remember the Masquerade. And, of course, how deeply affected we all were by the murder.” Armyah nearly chokes on her pastry. Mercifully, she catches herself, but her pulse quickens nonetheless. “Such a terrible shock to the guests. Such a vicious injustice on this house,” the Countess looks almost forlorn until her expression hardens, “To slaughter the host while her celebrates his birthday, sharing his joy and prosperity, with open doors? A hateful crime, indeed.” The empty plate in front of the magician was replaced with a fragrant lamb dish in a complicated sauce. All she knows about the murder was through rumor and whispers. The story was full of holes, more questions than answers, but the end was always the same: The Count retired to his chambers and, by midnight, he and his bedroom were both engulfed in flames. The culprit was captured on the spot…or surrenders, the details vary. However, before he could be brought to justice, the murder escaped. The palace has been closed to the public since.

“You may be wondering why I’m telling you this. Why I called you here,” the Countess spoke with gravity. Every eye in the room was set on her. “I have been planning this for some time…This year, we will hold the Masquerade once more,” she announces. The room was split between two different reactions, delighted and petrified. “The gates will again open, and the festivities of Lucio’s honor will be more fantastical than ever.” She dabs the corner of her mouth daintily, you could cut the tension in the room with a knife. The only one who seems indifferent to the news is Portia. “As I said, I have planned all the necessary details already. There is but one loose end in need of tying.” She folds her napkin and places it back on her lap. “The murderer roams free to this day…too long he’s evaded me. So long as he stalks the shadows of this city, I cannot guarantee the safety of my guests.” She closes her eyes, her eyebrows furrow in determination. “I must find him, and I must bring him to justice before the people of Vesuvia. Surely, you know the murderer of whom I speak…” Armyah did know, she knew very well who the Countess was referring to. “Doctor Julian Devorak,” the name fell from her lip like venom, “my husband’s trusted physician.” There was a terrible crash. All eyes land on Portia, whose face is stricken with horror. The broken remnants of their dessert at her feet. “Portia?” The Countess’s eyes are wide with shock.

“F-forgive me, milady,” the young woman stammered, “slippery hands.” Two servants rush to her aid, sweeping away the shattered porcelain with wind-sprint speed.

“You are forgiven,” the Countess sighed with a wave of her elegant hand, “Anyway…this is where you come in, Armyah.” She looked to the magician as the young woman shrinks under her gaze. “The fugitive has proved very elusive. The palace guard is helpless in rooting him out, but while they continue to disappoint me…” she looks pointedly at the guards stationed on either side of her. “You come highly recommended. Your master is known far and wide.” Armyah was aware Asra had a reputation, but she didn’t realize his name was spoken far and wide. “Rumor has it that you have surpassed him already.” She wasn’t sure where the Countess was getting this information, but she would hardly say she was stronger than her teacher. However, he does go on about how gifted and talented she is. “I, myself, can see the future, in dreams whether I like it or not. That is how I know it is you who will find the fraudulent doctor who betrayed us and murdered my husband.” Her sour face softened, albeit slightly. “This is why I’ve called you here, Armyah. If anyone can help me find him, it’s you.” The Countess gives a smile that can only be described as mischievous as she takes a sip of wine.

“And…if we find him?” the magician squeaked. It’s not what she wanted to ask…she wanted to ask what would happen if she dared to tell the Countess no.

“When we find him,” the Countess affirms, setting her glass down hard, “we will bring him to justice before the people so that all may see his long-awaited punishment.” She sneers in disgust, “whether he begs for his life or hangs his head in defeat, the people will delight in his suffering. A spectacle of vengeance…the mob with love it.” Another impish smile crosses her lips as a servant fills the Countess’s glass and she takes a fresh sip. “And so, to commence the festivities the doctor will die on the gallows.” Armyah turned green at the thought. “If all goes according to plan, that is.” She rises. On instinct, Armyah does so as well. “Portia?” the Countess calls.

“Yes, milady?” she replies, stepping forward and awaiting her command.

“Show Armyah to the guest quarters. I imagine there is much to ponder before the night is out,” the smile she gives the magician is almost tender.

“Right away, milady,” Portia nodded obediently. She whisks young woman to the door after a humble bow to the Countess.

“I’m interested to see more of this magic of yours, Armyah,” she calls after them, “and I look forward to our partnership.” Portia practically pulls the fortune-teller out into the corridor. The Countess is probably counting on the fact that she’s too afraid to refuse.

They’re quiet as Portia leads her to her room, but she doesn’t mind. The Countess’ words left them both with a lot to think about. After a few turns, they pass a wide staircase, veiled in shadow. It’s cold and smells of ash. Armyah strains to see where they lead, but the darkness at the top is impenetrable. Curled up on the bottom are two large, lanky dogs. They notice the magician just as she saw them. Fathomless eyes fix on her and they silently rise from their stair. Though they look like they could strike at any given moment, she sensed no ill intent from the animals. She holds out her hand as they approach to sniff it. Huffing breaths tickle her skin and the longer they sniff her, the harder their tails swish back and forth. Portia watches is wonder.

“Oh…you actually got up from your favorite stair?” she asks the hounds, “These two never take kindly to strangers. It’s how they’re trained, but…” she pauses, hesitant, but intrigued, “I’ve never seen them act like this.” Slim snouts brush against Armyah’s sides as the dogs investigate her further. When they decide they’re satisfied, they draw back and look to the fortune-teller expectantly. There was something unsettling in their gaze. They weren’t ordinary dogs…and the deeper she looked into their eyes, the less she understood. She finds herself almost staring them down. The animals shiver and drop their heads low under the pressure of her observation. They slink back to the staircase obediently. When she looks back to Portia, her face is radient with curiosity. “I’ve…never seen them do that. For a second there, I was sure you were going to lose a couple of fingers. I’m impressed.” Armyah blushed from the compliment. “You didn’t cast a spell on them, did you?” Thankfully she laughed, the magician couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. “Ugh, remind me to get them their chamomile cakes after I get you to your room. Otherwise, they’ll be up all night.” She beckoned Armyah to follow her. As they passed the stairs she could feel her vision become hazy, almost like the feeling she gets when the cards speak to her, only more menacing. She shakes away the feeling and follows the Countess’s servant. They reach a wooden door with elaborate designs carved into it.

“Here we are!” Portia announced, “These will be your quarters for now, Armyah.” Armyah looked around at the beautiful room. It was simple compared to the rest of the palace, she was thankful for that. A large window looked over the city, dim under the moonlight. A daybed tucked under a canopy was nestled against the wall, it looked very comfortable. “You can put your things wherever you like.” Portia smiled at the magician. “Breakfast is at sunrise…I’ll be sure to wake you.” Armyah must’ve looked tired, the servant gave her a sympathetic smile. “If you find anything lacking, don’t hesitate to ask.” The fortune-teller put her bag on the bed and smiled at the other woman. “You look about ready to drop. I’ll leave you be unless you have any other burning questions?” Armyah blinked…she feels like she could tell Portia anything, but she knew better.

“What happened at dinner?” she asked, “why did you drop the tray?” The color drained from the girl’s face and she bites her lip anxiously. For a moment, Armyah thinks she just might bolt out the door leaving her question unanswered.

“You know…” she laughs nervously, “slippery hands, for one thing…” The magician doesn’t reply. “It’s just…we were all so glad to hear the Countess was expecting a guest, but to think she asked you to come here for something like this?” She quiet for a moment, then she shakes her head, “Finding that doctor who, for all anybody knows, could be dead in a ditch somewhere. I mean, it’s been years since anyone…you know.” She leans nonchalantly against the doorframe. “He could be anywhere, right?” And it’s not like the guards have had any recent leads. But now that you’re here…” she sighed, staring Armyah dead in the eyes, “the Countess is hopeful, for the first time I can remember. If anyone can help her, it’s you.” He pushes off the wall and claps the fortune-teller on the shoulder, “Sleep well, Armyah.” Her soft voice trails off as she walks through the door and shuts it behind her.

Armyah burrows herself in the soft, satin sheets and it feels as though she’s weightless. The sound of Portia’s ever distant foot-falls lull her into unconsciousness…

Of course she can’t sleep. After the day-long trek to the palace she finally has a chance to rest, but whenever she settles into the embrace of sleep she’s tugged back to consciousness. She sits up, frustrated. Once she does, she feels the faintest hint of magic in the air coming from somewhere beyond the door. Armyah slips quietly out of bed, slips on her shoes and grabs her bag. Turning the metal handle, she emerges into the brightly lit hallway. Thankfully, there’s no one in sight, she must’ve wasted a few hours tossing and turning. Shuffling down the hallway, she trusted her magic to lead her down the winding corridors. The trail leads her to a balmy veranda bathed in starlight. Below are the lush, green gardens and from the balcony she can see that the middle forms a maze of greenery with a clearing at the center. She silently descends to the garden path and follows the trail of magic through the maze. As she nears the center she can hear the soothing melody of falling water grow louder and louder. A gazing pool surrounding a beautiful fountain and a rich, old willow tree blanketing it. Hanging from the tree is a familiar face, a certain lavender snake she is delighted to see.

“Faust!” she whispers as to not alert anyone to their presence, “what are you doing here?” If she was here, maybe Arsa was too. She flicks her tongue at the magician and hovers over the gazing pool. She looks as if she wants to show her something. Armyah sits at the edge of the pool and leans over to peer in the reflective water below. The longer she concentrates on the shape of the water, the more the change; colors too faint to see start to deepen, shadows start to twist and form. She blinks, her reflection fades away and in its place is Asra, drawing water to his face and drinking deeply. Each droplet that falls from his hands sends ripples through the water and distorts his image. Armyah doesn’t speak, afraid that any sound will break the spell. She’s just relieved to see a familiar and friendly face. He shakes out his hair and blinks the water from his eyes and looks straight at his apprentice.

“Armyah?” he gasps in disbelief. He looks as surprised as she is. He leans forward, so close she can see the droplets sticking to his eyelashes. “Can you hear me?” Armyah nods, still barely able to believe she’s talking to him. If he didn’t do it, then how did she? “Incredible…” he breaths. He’s sitting cross-legged, probably beside a pond. His mount is laying beside him resting its head on his knee…it’s the same beast as she saw in her dream the night before. “I see Faust found you alright? I wasn’t sure about leaving her, but after that reading you gave me I thought I’d trust my intuition.”

“I’m glad she’s here,” Armyah admits. The serpent is still hanging from the branch. She looks very proud of herself. The magician is beyond relieved to have her near. In the pool, Asra looked pretty pleased with himself as well causing his apprentice to laugh, “I’m glad you’re here, too.” She swears she could see a blush creeping across his face, but she’s not sure why. Then the beast on his knee gives a grumbling snort resembling that of the sound of groaning wood.

“Where is here exactly?” he asks, looking behind her, “I know that tree…are you at the palace?” Armyah regales him with the details of the previous night with the Countess. However, she leaves out the part about the alleged murder breaking into their home…she doesn’t want him to worry. The more she speaks, the more interested he becomes. “Unbelievable! The day I leave is the day you needed me the most. Even then, you didn’t really need me at all.” She doesn’t say it aloud, but it would have been nice if he was there through it. The entire ordeal is still a bit overwhelming. “I’m glad Faust is with you, at least. I would guess that she had something to do with this.” He gestures to the water in front of him, “if anything happens to either of you, I’ll know. I can live with that.” She wanted to ask if he was so interested in her well-being then why did he leave in the first place, but she thought better of it. Mostly, because she’s too tired to argue. The beast on his knee groans and blinks awake, peering up at Asra. “Looks like we’ve rested long enough,” he pats the strange creature on the head and looks back at Armyah, “we have to go, but I’m really glad I got to see you.” He rises with one last glance and moves out of view of the gazing pool, the great beast lumbering behind him. The wind roars and the image was enveloped in a storm of rust-colored sand, once it clears she can see her reflection again with Faust slithering up next to her. The color of the sand, the creature beside him…everything was the same as that dream she had the night he left.

She remembers Asra once telling her magic is what you do to make the outcome of your desire become reality. Did her magic reach out to him, wherever he is, to find a familiar face in the sea of unknown surrounding her? Arymah rises, knees trembling with exhaustion, and beckons Faust to follow. Getting back to her room unnoticed is going to be a challenge. Steeling herself, she heads back to the palace. Birds chirping signal dawn is going to be arriving soon. A suffocating feeling engulfs her, and she feels almost like she’s being watched. Many eyes, from every corner of the garden. This maze is teeming with life. The rustling leaves are starting to sound like whispers. Hastening her step, she retreats up the stairs and slips back inside.

“That snake has gotten much bigger…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about skipping over the part in Lucio’s old wing, but this chapter was getting way too long. Let me know what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: brief mentions of scars

The same dream…same dark stone road, same rust colored sand, and same green sky. This time the dark clouds seem heavier than before. However, Armyah is alone. The wind blows grit into her eyes, stinging them as she searches the vast landscape for her teacher. She squints ahead, Asra and the strange beast are too far for her to reach. She tries to call to him, but her voice is swallowed by the void. She looks harder; they’re at a standstill, side by side at a fork in the road. The many-legged creature looks longingly at Asra and turns down the eastern path, disappearing into the tempestuous sea of sand. The young man turns to the path leading west. Something in her chest tells her he is going the wrong way.

“Arsa!” she calls out, even if it’s useless, “not that way! Not again!” His head turns. Even from the great distance she can feel their eyes meet. She drives herself forward to reach out until she’s close enough to grab his hand. When he turns on her, his eyes are wide with wonder. Then, everything around them dissolves and falls away. Somehow, it’s yesterday. Armyah is sweeping up a mess of powdered bat milk wen Arsa wanders out from the back room.

“Armyah!” he exclaims excitedly, “Wait until you see what the woods had to offer today!” One by one, he unloads his bag onto the counter: mushrooms, fruit, roots, and flowers. He leans on his elbows with is fist under his chin, obviously proud of himself.

“Wow…” his apprentice muses, “this is…this is more than we need.” He frowns, that wasn’t the answer he was hoping for.

“Well, I thought it’d be better to have plenty,” he looks away, guilty, “I don’t want to leave you here with nothing to eat but pumpkin bread.” He offers her a goldberry and she graciously pops it into her mouth, but she tastes nothing. She remembers now…this was the moment before he packed his bag to go.

“I want to come with you,” she blurts out, unthinking. He spares her a pitiful smile and brings his gentle hands on either side of her face. His violet eyes bore into her.

“I know…I wish I could take you,” he replies softly, “It’s just too risky.” Of course. Wherever he goes, it’s too far, too fast, too risky for her to go, but for him it’s fine. “Next time…” he promises. It’s empty, he’ll say the same thing the next time, then the time after that. He doesn’t get it.

“I’m sick and tired of being left behind,” she shouts, prying his hands from her face, “and I’m through with you leaving all of the time. Why the secrecy? Where are you going that I can never know and never come with you?” He doesn’t dare meet her gaze. He wants to tell her…tell her that he can’t bare the thought of losing her again, that he’s guilty that he wasn’t there for her before…before…

“You’re more honest in dreams, aren’t you?” He smiles sadly, his eyes misty. Once the words left his mouth the room starts to pulse and colors shift. Of course it’s a dream. He’s already gone, and she has no idea when he’ll be back. He and the shop around him fades away into darkness and replace with blinding light. Armyah opens her eyes with a groan.

“Good morning!” a sing-songy voice fills the room. For a moment, the magician forgot where she was, but she remembers as soon as she see’s Portia she remembers. The Countess, the palace, being recruited to find a murderer no one has seen in years. “What a lovely sunrise…” the young woman muses, “Did you sleep well?” Armyah smiled and nodded, it wasn’t true. Truthfully, she feels like she was trampled by a horse. “I hope the dogs didn’t wake you last night. Something set them off, they were causing a ruckus. Sniffing around the garden of all places.” Armyah gulped, she hoped it wasn’t because of her wandering. More importantly, she hoped Faust was okay. “I was afraid we had an intruder! Wouldn’t that be exactly what we need right now?” Portia rolled her eyes sarcastically. She was so animated; the fortune-teller couldn’t help but smile. “Well, I didn’t find anything, thank the gods. The only thing I had on hand was a shovel. That could’ve gotten ugly.” The servant chuckled before waving a hand away. “Anyway, breakfast will be served shortly. I’ll let you freshen up, then we’ll head over.” She gestures over to a basin of water and a washing cloth under the window and heads toward the door. “Oh! I almost forgot!” Portia hands Armyah folded garments of pastel blue/green with accented gold. “The Countess has requested that you bring your cards with you and I have explicit orders to make sure you’re not wearing the same thing you were wearing last night.” The magician would’ve been offended but looking down she could see her clothes were dirty and disheveled. “I’ll give you some privacy. Shoes are by the door.”

The door shuts carefully behind her. Sure enough, strapped, gold heels sat intimidatingly next to where Portia exited. She considers wearing her original outfit anyways, but she doesn’t want Portia to get in trouble. She’s only known the girl half of a day, but she does like her. She disrobes and hangs her ragged garments on the changing screen. She takes the washing cloth and soaks it in the lukewarm water. Running the terrycloth over her arms and chest, then down the length of her body and over her scars.

Her scars…the tiger stripes above her breasts and on her hips and upper thighs. She isn’t sure how they got there, but she woke up three years ago with them. She’s asked Asra about them, but if he knows where they came from he doesn’t say. He refuses to talk about them if she brings them up. Shaking the melancholy thoughts from her mind, she slips on the dress. The new dress is long sleeved and falls just above her knees. The magician feels practically naked in the new outfit but clasps the gold belt around her waist regardless. The fabric is light and soft like a gentle breeze. She stands before the mirror on the wall, but far enough away so she can see the whole ensemble sans shoes. She looks ridiculous, but she’s a guest so anything to make her host happy, right? Then comes the shoes…Armyah has never worn heels. She contemplates skipping the sandals all together, but then she’d be in her regular dark flats or barefoot. She grabs the footwear and plops on the bed. She slips them on her now-clean feet and buckles them, using the bed to steady herself she takes a few practice steps. They’re not especially high, but they weren’t what she was used to. Treading carefully as to not trip she grabs her bag, peeking inside to make sure Faust isn’t hiding inside. With no snake in sight she pulls the bag over her shoulder and goes to meet Portia in the hallway.

“Ooooh! You look beautiful!” There’s sincerity in her voice that warms Armyah’s heart and boosts her confidence, albeit slightly. “The Countess has a real eye for fashion. She’ll definitely be pleased.” Portia ushered the magician down the hallway to the dining room. It’s bright and servants are bustling to and fro. The Countess is already seated at the head of the table when they enter, her finely-jeweled fingers massaging her temples. She seems to be nursing a headache.

“Good morning, Armyah, Portia,” she greeted politely, though through clenched teeth as the young woman seated herself in the same chair as last night. “I trust you slept well?” She didn’t wait for the fortune-teller to answer. “Well, I had an exceptionally miserable night. The dreams were…vivid. Enough to frighten me awake, yet I cannot remember any of them.” She inhales deeply. “Then, of course, the dogs were feeling active.”

“Coffee, milady?” Portia offered with a sympathetic smile.

“Ugh, please,” the Countess sighed desperately. Portia brings over a gleaming, golden contraption that was nestled in the far corner, brings it to the porcelain saucer in front of the Countess and pours until it’s full of the dark, rich drink. “Ah! You’ve changed!” her sour expression lightens, “Is that the ensemble I sent down?” Armyah flushed and sank into her seat at her weighted stare, willing herself to disappear. “My, my, the difference is astounding. One would hardly recognize you!” Portia offers the golden carafe and a compassionate smile; the magician’s anxiety is almost palpable. Armyah barely shakes her head and she doesn’t take her eyes off the empty plate in front of her. Suddenly, she’s not very hungry. “The fit appears correct. Those garments you came with were most unkind to you.” She feels tears prickle behind her eyes under the Countess’s shameless scrutiny, but she blinks them away. Her ladyship doesn’t notice. “…and how the sea green compliments your skin tone. Who would’ve guessed that you were so becoming underneath?”

“Breakfast is served!” Portia announced loudly as the servers brought out a lavish egg dish. From the confused look on the Countess’s face, she had never done that before. Luckily, the blue-feathered servant from last night stole the Countess’s attention with a report of some goings-on. Meanwhile, Portia pretended to fill Armyah’s glass. “You okay?” she asked reassuringly. The magician smiles slightly and nods.

“Thanks…” she whispers. The servant gave her a friendly wink.

“Anytime.” Portia goes back to doing her regular duties, leaving Armyah to push her eggs around the plate with a fork. Her eyes flicker to the painting across from her, the ruby eyes of the goat-headed character seems to be watching her.

“Well, you may tell them that they have no choice in the matter,” the Countess declared, matter-of-factly. “That will be all. Now then…Armyah.” The Countess’s voice breaks her from her thoughts. “I understand that you have your cards with you?” Cautiously, the fortune-teller pulls her bag from the floor next to her and rests it on her lap. “Splendid! Please, come closer.” The servants took her uneaten breakfast and relocated her to the Countess’s side. “First and foremost, we will be celebrating the Count’s birthday in thirteen days. Preparations are already underway, as you know. So, I must ask you to be expedient in this?” She makes catching a criminal in two weeks sound like it’s no great feat. “It is not my intention to rush you, but by the same time I will need to know whether or not you intend to cooperate with me.” Armyah frowned, was she not already “cooperating” by leaving her shop, her home, to stay at the palace and give her ladyship readings as she pleased? “Unless…you have decided to do so already?” The magician made the mistake of looking to the Countess. Her stare was relentless so Armyah did what she does best…panicked.

“Y-yes?” That was a mistake. She didn’t even have the full story about the murder or the events leading up to it. Regardless of her uncertainty in her voice the Countess smiles, satisfied with her answer.

“A wise choice. I am pleased to here it.” She places a many-ringed hand on the table near the fortune-teller. “If you serve me well, you will have my utmost gratitude and, of course, a generous reward.” Armyah perked up at the mention of the reward. She didn’t want to assume she would be compensated, but she’s relieved to hear it. “Ah, that eager face will be my undoing,” the Countess chuckled, “and yours if you don’t learn to master it.” She smiles almost proudly, “together, we will make a fine team, Armyah. Our forces combined are quite formidable: you and I, my guard, and those cards of yours.” Her garnet eyes travel to the bag still on the magician’s lap and the young woman instinctively pulls it closer to her chest. “Speaking of which…” She didn’t even have to finish, Armyah knew what she wanted. She retrieved the deck from the bottom of the bag and placed it hesitantly on the table. The Countess’s eyes flash with interest. She smiles, looking out the dining room window with a musical sigh.

“It’s a glorious morning, a new day,” she looks back to the fortune-teller, “I trust that my fortune will have changed?” She says that as if Armyah controlled the cards. Sometimes, it feels like the other way around. “Read the cards for me again, Armyah. I would like to hear what they have to share on this fortuitous day.” The magician shuffles the deck, focusing on the cards in her hands. They leave a faint tingling on her fingertips, it’s a little distracting. She places three cards from the top in front of the Countess. She chooses the one closest to Armyah on her right. The yellow eyes of the bull-like character stare back at her.

“The Emperor,” the fortune-teller reveals.

“And what does he say for me?” The Countess urged. Something wasn’t right. There was no fog, no whispers. Armyah was too anxious and overwhelmed by all the events that have transpired so quickly that she couldn’t empty her mind. She couldn’t hear the cards. She didn’t know what to do, she didn’t dare disappoint the Countess. She could do this, she knows the Emperor means to oversee your own destiny. She can try and make something up?

“You…um…” she panicked, “You have…proven your wisdom, your…intelligence and ability to rule.” She was tentative in her reading, she hoped the Countess didn’t notice. “Your lessers no longer hesitate to bow before you. Where there was doubt, you have built trust. Where there was chaos, you’ve made order…When your will is done the city will sing your praises and…celebrate as it never as before!” There was a collective fluttering of oohs and aahs from the servants watching. Their faces were radiant with delight and Portia’s hand rested on her heart. Armyah breaths a sigh of relief; she thinks she convinced everyone enough. That is, until she looks at the Countess. She’s unimpressed. She lifts the card from the table and examines it with a neutral eye.

“Well, that is all very good of him to say.” Armyah tries to blend in with the chair she is sitting in. Abruptly, the Countess stands, and the servants snap to attention. “Arymah, would you care to join me for a stroll?” She was already to the door to the hallway; the magician could tell she really didn’t have a choice. “There is something I would like to show you.” Armyah gathers her cards, clambers to her feet tripping on the heels in the meantime, and follows the Countess while hoisting her bag onto her shoulder. Portia falls in step behind them as they exited the dining room. It takes some effort for the magician to keep up with the Countess’s swift gait. Looking around, her surroundings start to look familiar. The wide, marble staircase from the night before. She finds herself searching for the hounds as they pass. They aren’t there or, perhaps, they’re curled up in the shadows out of sight.

“The dogs are having their breakfast right about now,” Portia whispers from behind her as if she was reading the magician’s mind.

“Yes,” the Countess interjected, “Portia said you seem to have a kinship with animals. Even the security eels.” She slows her stride to walk side by side with Armyah, “I find them rather enchanting as well. Though they are quite unhappy here. Their native climate is deep in the Southern, icy waters.” Armyah remembers the graceful way the creature under the bridge twisted into the mud. “Anyway…here we are.” The Countess comes to a halt before a large panel in the wall crafted from smooth wood in colors of rippling amber and carved with dizzying intricacy is a great tree. Its winding roots coil around each other all the way to the floor. Leaves and fruits are inlaid with glittering jewels, precious stones, and mother of pearl gleaming from every angle. “Portia, if you would be so kind?” the Countess commended.

“Of course,” she replied with a nod. A large key ring emerged from her pocket. There were about a dozen keys, each carved of the same wood as the panel and bearing a distinct jewel. One by one, she finds the locks in the panel with ease. With each turn, the roots of the tree start unwinding from each other. Once all the roots are untangled, the panel folds in on itself like a paper fan. The room before her causes Armyah’s breath to catch in her chest.

A library filled to its brim with books and greenery and a large stained-glass window decorated with reds and greens in the center of it all. Underneath the window was an overgrown fire place with ragged chairs resting around it, long since used and the books! Bookshelves filled to the high ceilings with tomes of all shape, size, and color. Tall, crisp volumes on mathematics beside broad leather atlases of faraway lands; each one with years, maybe lifetimes of wisdom to share. Asra has told her about places like these, but she never dreamed she would see one for herself.

“Do you read, Armyah?” the Countess asked, amused by the magician’s reaction to the desolate room. Only an absentminded nod was her reply, Armyah was still taking in the sight. “Ah, I suspected that you might.” She follows the awe-struck fortune-teller further into the room and the door closes behind Portia as she steps in behind them fidgeting with the ring of keys. “It’s a great gift, to read. Where I come from it is shared among all citizens, regardless of birth.” Armyah is barely paying attention, she wants to dive into the shelves and disappear amid the aged parchment. “Woefully uncommon here. I suppose you were taught by your master? They say the two of you are very close.” The magician turns on the Countess, brows furrowed. What was she insinuating? How close are two people to be after one wakes up in the other’s arms with no memory other than her name.

“Milady is in a teasing mood,” Portia interjected quickly. The Countess merely chuckles.

“Indeed…” she turns on her heels, “this way, if you please.” Armyah’s expression softens as she follows. “You know, Armyah…you are my guest. If you should like to return here, you need only ask.” Portia jingles the keys, smiling as if to punctuate the Countess’s point. “But for the moment, I would have your undivided attention here…” Huddled in an alcove between bookshelves, almost hidden, is a desk under a tiny window that casts a slim ray of daylight on the surface. Books, journals, and papers are scattered over it. Despite the clutter, everything is in a specific place.

“An organized mess.” Armyah’s hand flies to her temple as she winces at the stabbing pain behind her eyes at the thought. Someone told her that phrase…but she can’t remember who or in what context.

“Armyah?” Portia looks to her with concern.

“It’s nothing,” she replied, a little too quickly. Neither women pressed further.

“Armyah, do you know why Doctor Devorak came to the palace?” the Countess asked, “I suppose you would…after all, your master was here for the same purpose.” He was? If Asra was ever at the palace he never mentioned it. “To concoct a cure for the plague.” The Red Plague swept through the city like wildfire. It claimed young and old, frail and strong. There was no way to tell who would be the next to fall. Cases were very rare now. The magician can’t remember the last time she saw the telltale red in the whites of someone’s eyes. Asra had told her about it, but she only woke up toward the end of the epidemic. “As you know, the Count and I called upon the city, whoever might be of use in this quest,” the Countess explained, “Physicians, scientists, alchemists, witches…even fortune-tellers were invited to the palace in hopes that our resources may aid in their research.” She stepped around to the other side of the desk opposite Armyah, careful not to disturb anything. “Whosoever was able to find the cure, the city and the palace both would be forever in their debt. The doctor accepted our invitation…perhaps he was plotting even then.” She gave the magician a knowing smile, “as did your master, Asra.” She looks out the window, a strange shadow was cast itself across her face. Curious, Armyah leaned forward to see out the small opening. Strangely, it’s in a perfect spot to see the willow tree that hangs over the gazing pool she had used to contact Asra the night before, although accidentally. “While they toiled away in search of a cure, the palace provided everything they might need.” The Countess rested her hand atop one of the many texts gathering dust. “This very desk belonged to Doctor Devorak. I have had its contents examined laboriously, nothing of consequence has been found.” She sighed, defeated, “but with such a volume of evidence, something may yet be hiding here.” Her touch lingers on a well-won tome. “Perhaps you will have better luck than I in finding it?” She passes the fortune-teller, perfuming the air with jasmine.

“Good luck,” Portia whispers before following the Countess out of the library, the door unfolding itself behind them. Armyah is left in silence, alone with the doctor’s desk. What did they expect? She would pick up a possession of his and she would follow a trail of magic to him like a bloodhound? Now that she thinks about it, that might work. She has never used magic in that way, but she doesn’t see why it isn’t possible. She leans over the desk; a stack of books, a leather-bound folio, and a handful of scrolls tucked away in a little row of drawers. Some of the books were threadbare in their bindings while others were of rich leather and leafed with gold. She picks up and flips through a particularly well-loved tome. It appeared to be a surgical guide. However, some of the diagrams are stained with blood. Some pages were littered with cartoonish illustrations. One particular drawing of a physician using a curled tool to bleed a patient has a large, black X through it and “No!” scribbled beside it. His writing has a distinct quality of frenzy and frustration, but she admired his passion in finding a cure for the terrible disease. Closing the book, Armyah places it back on the stack where she found it and turned her attention to the scrolls. The parchment is soft, almost powdery, on her fingertips as she unfurls it. It’s written in the same hurried, fluid scrawl as she saw in the doctor’s notes. It’s almost completely undecipherable except for a dense swath of cursive: a single letter J. A signature? If it was signed at the bottom it was sure to be addressed at the top…Sure enough, a scribble at the upper corner of the page barely makes out Dear Sister. Did the doctor even have a sister? As far as anyone knew, he was a bachelor with no family to speak of. The magician is unsure what to so with this new information, but she rolls up the paper and tucks it carefully into her bag.

“Armyah?” a musical voice behind her makes her jump. The back panel parts, unfolding to reveal Portia. “I hope I didn’t startle you, but there’s something going on out by the garden.” The servant girl gestures for her to follow, “the Countess is requesting your presence at once.” Armyah pushes off the desk to follow Portia, “Did you find anything interesting?” The fortune-teller shakes her head, it wasn’t a total lie. Nothing she found was relevant for the Countess. “Well, it’ll take a while to go through everything…you can try again later.” She links her arm with Armyah’s and leads her through the panel in the wall, the mechanical sound of it closing fades behind them. “I’ve got the keys, so you can find me the next time you want to have a look!” Portia’s pace is leisurely as she walks with the magician. She talks about nothing in particular, but Armyah likes that about her. It’s easy to get lost in the animated way she tells stories. She leads the fortune-teller to the veranda over-looking the garden that seems livelier in the day. A symphony of birdsong echoes from every direction. She spots the Countess looking out over the garden, her hands held sagely behind her back.

“Forgive me for drawing you away from your investigation, Armyah,” her tone is patient, leveled, “it just so happens that I was thinking about that fortune you gave me earlier.” She turns to face the magician, her face mysteriously neutral. “Rumor would have it that I dislike fortune-tellers, but this is not entirely true…I only dislike those that profit by saying whatever they want to say or by telling their clients whatever they want to hear.” She fixes a gaze of gentle disappointment on the fortune-teller. Armyah’s heart drops into her stomach and her face flushes almost as crimson as the Countess’s eyes. “I want desperately to believe that you are neither, Armyah. But, if we are to succeed in our little venture, I must trust in your skill. That being said…” She gestures broadly to the gardens beneath her, “I have devised a test. More of a game, really. If you win, then we may move forward with our plans and I need never doubt your worth again.”

“And if I lose?” Armyah spits venomously, insulted. She hardly thought one fudged fortune was worth all this.

“If you lose you are free to go, and I shall trouble you no further.” She knew the magician was offended, but she made no mention or acknowledgment toward it. “Now then, let us summon your competitors. Portia, would you kindly call in the prey?” The girl looked confused.

“Prey?” then, realization struck her, “Oh! The outfits make sense now.” Portia goes out to the edge of the balcony, takes a deep breath, and releases an ear-piercing whistle. As Armyah moved to the balustrade to find to figures shuffling, embarrassed, dressed head to toe in fanciful costumes. One a rabbit and the other a deer.

“The game is to hide and hunt,” the Countess explained as she moved behind the magician to peer at the two participants. “Armyah, you will be the hunter and these two your prey. You need not hesitate on your behalf, they have earned their place.” She motioned to the costumed individuals and they removed their masks to reveal their faces as the two guard from the bridge the night before.

“Milady, please,” the rabbit pleaded, “this is embarrassing…”

“You are embarrassing.” She spat, “have you already forgotten how beastly you were to our guest? It’s only fitting that you should be dressed as such.” The guards drop to a humble kneel, begging forgiveness. The Countess turns to Armyah, almost as if she were waiting for her to object. She doesn’t, if it’s a game she wants, it’s a game she’ll get. “Now for the purpose of our little game. This morning, at breakfast, I found myself considering the task at hand.” She clasps her hands behind her back and paces across the veranda as she speaks. “We seek to find one man in a city of thousands. A city where gossip moves more swiftly than we possibly could. Daunting, but not impossible. Fate has already drawn him back to town for us.” Armyah notices Portia perk up in the corner of her eye. “But for what purpose and for how long? Our window of opportunity may be quite slim.” The Countess pauses to face the magician, “I came to the conclusion that we must not pursue him without knowing exactly where to look. Easier said than done, of course. The doctor’s desk may very well hold the key, but how long before we find it? And then I thought, perhaps we might use what we have in another way…” Armyah finds herself growing more and more impatient as the Countess drones on. “Perhaps we might use magic.” She pauses, gauging the magician’s reaction. The Countess continues when she doesn’t reply. “Is it not possible that something in that desk holds meaning to the doctor? An attachment that might linger to this day?” Armyah’s mind immediately goes to the Dear Sister letter in her bag. “Even a single leaf of paper may possess a tether to his soul that a magician need only follow it. If it is possible, is your magic refined enough to do it?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, “if you have never done such a thing before, worry not. You are about to do just that. Each of your prey will be trying to evade you; moving targets, as the doctor will be, and your goal is to hunt one of them down.” The Countess smiles mischievously, “one of them to whom I have given a signal leaf of paper…your Emperor card.” Armyah’s face goes hot, her eyes wide. This morning, at the reading…She took the card from the table to examine it and never gave it back. Panic flood through her veins, to lose one of Asra’s major Arcana! The magician has half a mind to demand her card back, leave and never return. No, she’ll play this little game and she’ll win.

“Now then,” she says patiently, “do you understand the instructions? It’s quite simple, just find the guard carrying your Emperor card before the day is out. So long as you can do this, I’m confident you’ll be able to lead me to the doctor’s door.” She reaches out to rest a hand on the magician’s shoulder, but she steps back with a venomous glare. The Countess doesn’t look surprised. Wordlessly, she moves to the balustrade. “You! Down There!” she addresses the guards again and they snap to attention, “run, run as if your capture were to mean your imminent death.” They both looked at each other for a moment before bolting in opposite directions. The Countess turns to Armyah, “you may start on my mark, you have until dawn.” The echoes of foot-falls almost fade completely. She nods and the magician dashes down the stairs to the gardens after the costumed guards. “Oh, and Armyah?” The Countess calls out causing the magician to pause and look to her. “I implore you not to disappoint me.” Armyah scoffs, frustrated at the situation. All this because of a reading she didn’t like? Or was this her plan all along?

If this was her plan, then why in the Gods’ name did she give the magician heels?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know how I’m doing! Find me at tumblr.com/polynymph


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: mentions of nudity, brief mention of scars

Armyah skid on gravel beneath her sandals. She had half a mind to kick them off, but she didn’t want to give the guards more of a head start than they already had. Dawn. She had until dawn to catch either the rabbit or the deer character to get her Emperor card back. After she has the card back in her possession, then she’ll decide whether to stay in the palace or not. As of right now, it was looking more toward the latter. She followed the sound of rustling and snapping branches until she met a path that only ran left and right. To the left she saw the flash of the deer guard rounding the far corner, the look on his face was particularly nervous. She bolted after him, but it didn’t take her long to realize she was far outclassed in speed, especially with her disadvantage. Even at a sprint, she could barely catch a glimpse of her target before they disappeared from her line of sight. The magician’s mounting frustration spurs her on as she presses further into the garden.

Armyah continues onward until she’s enveloped by a fold of green canopy; fronds obscure all but an arm’s length in front of her. Heart racing, she hands swept the springy vines out of her path. She nearly trips over a wide root that stuck out precariously from the dirt. Finally, she reaches the edge of the garden; a tall lemonstone wall stretches toward the late afternoon sky…a dead end. Her hand trails along the powdery stone and she walks with the barrier. It leads her out of the throng of bushes and trees to a quaint, mossy path. Dusty tools, shears, and old buckets are leaning against the wall, obviously not meant for the public eye. A servant’s path, narrow, but clear. She can see a ways down, but the deer guard is nowhere in sight. Hand never leaving the lemonstone, she lags in pace. A tingling in the magician’s fingertips distracts her from the current task and it grows stronger as she walks on. A short distance ahead she finds a great marble archway with intricate stone-carved roses decorating it. The top had long since collapsed, leaving only the supports. The faint buzzing in the back of her mind tells her this is the source of magic she was feeling moments before. You can see straight through to the wall behind it, and on that wall; a door. Small, rusty, and unassuming pushes open without resistance. Beyond it, a valley with high grass dancing in the gentle breeze. A breath catches in her throat; she could leave. Rolling slopes of meadow and sweet-smelling fields called her name. The terrain would be rough, more so in heels, but she spotted a few shepherd’s trails. What would happen if she just left? Would anyone look for her? Would the Countess send out a search party? A surge of anger flooded through the fortune-teller at the mere thought of her ladyship. Without a moment’s hesitation, she storms through the door and lets it swing shut with a metallic slam that echoes through the valley.

A curtain of coiling vines dropped down before the exit, smothering it from sight. Armyah takes a few heaving breaths as she looks toward the untamed hills. Wind sweeps through the thin fabric of her dress and she shivers despite the long sleeves. She walks as briskly as she can down the steep decline, golden grass tickling her bare calves. She’s free…for now, at least; whatever that may mean. She takes careful, nervous glances behind her. She half expects a bell to sound, alerting everyone she escaped. She wasn’t being held prisoner there, but she isn’t one hundred percent sure she is allowed to leave. What about Asra’s Emperor card? Will he be upset that she lost it? Technically, the Countess’s guard has it. Maybe she’ll wait for him to come home and she’ll explain the situation. They can come up with a course of action together. For now, she tried to even her breaths and calm her heart rate. ‘One step at a time,’ she thought. First, she had to get back to the city.

It’s almost dark once Armyah arrives into town, but she doesn’t recognize the area she’s in. Her breath grows short as tremors of anxiety radiate through her body. She hugs her arms around her waist and casts an aura of protective energy. It won’t hide her, but it will allow her to travel unbothered. There isn’t a soul in sight but a group of spindly cats picking over piles of charred, oily fish bones. They pay the quaking woman no mind as she walks between their inky forms. Then, the musical sound of rushing water catches her ear. It’s not familiar, but it’s different and that’s enough for the fortune-teller at this point. The dull roar leads her to a narrow, slippery street layered with shabby cobblestone. Clustered, worn apartments line the passage, the open windows cast an orange light onto the dark mist below. The air is full of loud conversations, but nothing clear enough to follow a single discussion. Suddenly, a door in front of her swings open, casting a warm light down three jagged stone steps. Raucous laughter and music spill out of the doorway while boots clip jauntily down the stairs.

“Oh, I’ll be right back!” a voice called to someone inside, “Just stepping out for some air!” The door swings shut and the muscles in Armyah’s legs feel as if they liquefied. Doctor Devorak was standing with his back to her, sweeping long slender fingers through his hair. She backs away slowly, careful to not alert him to her presence, but one of her heels catches a stone imbedded into the street. With a surprised gasp, she tumbled backward onto her ass, the contents of her bag spilling onto the flagstone. His shoulders tense at the sound behind him. Slowly turning, his grey eye catches chocolate ones. His thick eyebrows knit together in concern as he realized the noise was the young woman falling. “Are you alright? That was quite the tumble.” The doctor walks toward her extending a gloved hand to help her up, but rears back as soon as he’s close enough to see her face more clearly, “The…the shopkeep?” he stammers, eye wide, “what are you doing here?” His gaze softens, “Little early in the evening to be stumbling around in alleys, isn’t it?” He smiles and reaches is hand out to her once again, “I’m joking. It’s never too early. Come on, upsy-daisy.” A firm leather-clad grip encircled each of her wrists and he pulls her onto her feet. The magician staggered forward into his broad chest that a thin white shit barely covered. For a moment, his eye meets hers in surprise at their sudden proximity, his face flushed crimson. Realizing what was happening, she tugged her hands from his grasp and glowers at him. After all, this was the man who broke into her teacher’s shop and threatened her.

“Sooooo…you, ah, last I heard you…you were bound for the palace?” She doesn’t respond, he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Dare I ask what brings you to this neck of the woods?” She tears her glare away from the doctor to survey her surroundings. Judging by the barrels and the noise, we’re behind a tavern. A hole in the wall, hidden from the street. Painted on the door is a cackling blackbird, laying back on a crescent moon. The Rowdy Raven it read, it looked seedy enough to have an alleged murderer as a patron. “Oh, what’s this?” She looks back to see that the doctor is gathering her scattered belongings and has taken an interest in scroll she had taken from his desk. Armyah panics, she quickly snatches the scroll away leaving him blinking at thin air. “Is…is that mine?” She hugs it closer to her chest, but he’s already seen. What more, he’s probably the only person capable of explaining it. Curiosity compelled her to take it in the first place, maybe he would be willing to reveal its contents. In the midst of her debating, Doctor Devorak whisked the scroll from her grasp and turned his back to her as he read.

“Hey!” she exclaimed. She tried to reach around him to get it back, but he held the parchment just out of her reach.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, leaning away from her. Armyah sighed, defeated, and ceased her attempts to retrieve the paper.

“Your desk…” He blinked, confused. “In the library?” Nothing. “At the palace?” A searching glance to his face and she saw a flinch of pain cross over his features.

“Oh yeah…” he said carefully, “My desk in the library…at the palace. Little window right above it?” She nodded slowly, watching the doctor massage his pinched brow. He groaned, rolled up the scroll, and handed it back to the magician. He wipes a hand over his face and places it on his hip, glancing to the slightly ajar door of the tavern; the warm light glows between them. He turns to her with a dynamic expression. “Well, I’m parched,” he announces to the only person in the alley with him, “think I’ll head back inside. Are you thirsty?” Doctor Devorak raises an eyebrow and smirks impishly at the fortune-teller. “You’re welcome to join me, if you’d like to.” She glares daggers at the man and he puts his hands up innocuously. “All I’m saying is that I still owe you for the reading the other night.” She wouldn’t call it a reading. More so, she flipped the Death card over and he assumed it meant he was going to meet a horrible, painful end. She looked torn; part of her wanted to run away and hope she’d never see his smug face again, but the other part really wanted to know what was in that letter.

“I should…” she jerked her thumb behind her weakly, “I just…” she sighs, that roguish grin will be her undoing, “…fine.” His face splits in a brilliant grin.

“Oh fantastic!” he exclaims excitedly, “Please, allow me.” He leads her by the small of her back up the steps through the door and into the warmth inside. It’s only past sundown, but the tavern was in full swing. The noise was jarring and caused the magician to grimace as she stepped inside. The barkeep, a wide, scar-faced, a barrel-armed fellow, gives the doctor a cheeky salute as they pass by. Bells on ropes decorated the wooden rafters along the small bar. There were few lanterns, so it was hard to see in the dim light and candles were scattered on tables to illuminate the conversations at ragged wood tables. A cackling drunk leaned back in his creaking chair with boisterous laughter as he swings a wooden leg out, which Doctor Devorak politely pushes aside. He ushers Armyah through the tumult with practiced ease, he definitely frequents this place. A loud beating of wings startles the fortune-teller, a haggard raven fluttered in after them, squawking and thumping its wings against the windows. The doctor chuckles at the bird, shaking his head. He winds his arm around the magician’s shoulders and guided her to a small booth in the back. “What can I get you to drink?” She glanced over his shoulder and scanned the colorful bottles that line the bar; some flavored with roots and herbs, others with coins, rocks, and beetles of all things. She chews her lip apprehensively, but he pats her reassuringly on the shoulder. “You know what, how about I take care of it and you make yourself comfortable?” He gestured for her to sit, “I’ll be right back.” He heads toward the bar, his stride is confident, almost cocky. He doesn’t seem to be too concerned by being recognized.

She settles into her seat and wrings her hands anxiously. Nearby, a pair of old crones are hunched over a card game and attended by an energetic, squabbling crowd. The cards in their hands makes Armyah think of Asra’s tarot deck, as well as the other contents of her bag that she spilled outside and failed to pick up. Heart dropping, she dives for the bag reaches in to find the deck safe and sound at the bottom, though its energy is abnormal. Of course…the Emperor card is missing. She sighs and cradles her forehead in a hand as tears prickle behind her eyes, there’s so much to be worried about: she is missing a card from her teacher’s deck, she deserted from the palace, and she was in a bar with the Count’s murderer! Well…alleged murderer, she still didn’t have the full story. Suppose it would be rude to ask. Still taking in her surroundings, she spots the rest of her missing possessions stacked on the bench beside the doctor’s seat. She smiles faintly, he must’ve grabbed them before coming in when she wasn’t looking. She found herself seeking him out at the bar where he was chatting up the bartender. He’s slim, but his shoulders are broad. The too-large shirt was billowing over his frame and tucked haphazardly into his belt. His messy auburn curls fell lazily over the eyepatch that’s strap ran over his aquiline nose and thick eyebrow. He looked at ease as he laughed with the man behind the bar. Overall, he was a very handsome for a suspected criminal, not that she had met very many to compare. He turns to the table she was sitting, she quickly averts her eyes to a particularly interesting knot in the wooden tabletop.

“Here we are.” He sets a pewter tankard in front of her and slides into the booth across from her as her gulps down his drink with gusto. Armyah warily eyes the golden liquid in her cup, it smelled faintly like fruit. She makes no move to drink it and her gaze flicker between him and the mug. He raises an eyebrow in confusion as he drinks heartily from his stein until he realizes… “Very smart! Never trust a free drink, especially from someone you barely know.” ‘Especially when that person is wanted’ she thought bitterly, but before she could respond he plucked the cup from her place at the table and took a dramatic swig. With a satisfied sigh he licked his lips exaggeratedly, making sure to look her dead in the eyes causing the magician to flush and look and look anywhere but his face. He returned the drink gave her a look as if to say ‘see?’. She takes a hesitant sip, not taking her incredulous gaze off the doctor. The beverage is refreshing; barely sweet and it fizzed excitingly all the way down. As soon as it washes down her throat she realized how thirsty she was after running after the guard. She drinks hungrily, and Doctor Devorak slowly lowers his stein to watch her drain her mug, his uncovered eye gleaming in the candlelight. “Look at you,” he tuts, “You’re dry as a bone. Drink, drink!” Her cup is empty after a few more desperate gulps. She sets the tankard down heavily and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, careful not to get it on the sleeve of her borrowed dress. The doctor slid his drink to the side and leaned in toward the young woman, flashing her that roguish smile. “You know…I never did get your name.” She eyes him carefully, thinking of what he could gain by knowing her name, but she’s distracted by that damned smile; smarmy yet strangely charming. She sighs, defeated. She doesn’t meet his gaze.

“Armyah…” She looks up at him as he beams, pleased and sincere.

“Ahh, Armyah…” he tests the name on his lips, “what a lovely name. Almost musical! Armyah.” He kept repeating her name in different voices and octaves, even singing it a few times. She raised an eyebrow at his antics. Noticing her look, he laughs nervously and lets out an awkward cough into his gloved fist. “Ah…um…you can call me Julian.” He offers his hand, but she hesitates to take it. After a prolonged moment, she manages to shake his hand and his smile broadens to a toothy grin. “So, I have to ask: how did you wind up in that ally?” She jerks her hand back defensively, “At first I thought you might have come for me on behalf of the palace, but I’m not wearing any chains yet and you’re covered in burrs.” She looks down. Sure enough, there are burrs and twigs tangled in her long, curly hair. “Now, I may be projecting, but…I’m sensing that you’re on the run.” He raises a thick eyebrow, but she turns away from him, blushing ashamedly. He chuckles at her obvious answer, reaches past her ear and pulls a small twig from her wild, dark curls. “Escaped from the palace down the southward side?” he muses, “Ah…we have so much in common already.”

“I am nothing like you,” the magician spat venomously. He raised his hands apologetically, but his grin never faulters. Then, his face turns more serious.

“Do you have anywhere to go?” He sounded concerned, she’s not sure why, though. “Back to the magic shop?” She straightens in her seat, perking up at the sound of home. He raises a cautionary finger, “Ah, but that is the very first place they’ll look.” She’d have to lie low until Arsa got back. “I can still tell you how to get back…”

“You can?” she asked excitedly. He smiled at how eager she was.

“You bet I can” he winked, “But first…” Of course there was a catch, “I’d like to take another look at that document” A painless trade. She willingly handed over the scroll and he spread it flat across the table. Once exposed, the contents steal the smile from his face and he leans over the page, frowning in concentration. “Oof…this light is not for reading. Alright, let’s see here,” he squints at the paper, “Well, it’s a letter, but you knew that. Dear so and so…”

“Dear sister.” Armyah translated. Julian’s eye flicked up to her, mortified.

“You…you can read this?” She couldn’t, but he didn’t need to know that. She just shrugged as if it were no real feat. “Incredible…” he mused, “you know, a cryptographer told me once that it would take years of study to decipher my handwriting and look at you. A natural.” She wasn’t surprised, his penmanship was atrocious. The magician squirms uncomfortable at his praise. The doctor beams, blinks and returns to the letter. “Ahem…Dear sister, I have…much to share since I last wrote.” He was hesitating, like he was struggling to read his own writing. “Winter has come to the palace…these marble floors are so cold…blah blah…” His voice tapers off to a mumble, then he’s quiet. His stormy eye slides carefully over the page. Armyah watches his face for any signs, but his expression doesn’t change. The more he reads, the more he pauses to massage his temples or pinch the bridge of his pointed nose. By the time he’s finished, his already pale complexion looks wistful and drained. He rolls up the paper and hands it back to the fortune-teller, which she takes and stuffs it back into her bag. Absent-mindedly, he reaches for his stein and tosses the rest of his drink down his throat. Armyah shifts in her seat awkwardly, little else to do than just sit there and watch him drink.

“So…you have a sister?” she inquires nervously. Not sure if her question will set him off; so far, he’s seemed like a reasonable man. He coughs while he drinks, sputtering, and he sets down the empty drink.

“I do!” he declared eagerly, “Haven’t seen her since she was ohh…this high?” His hand wavers just above the lip of the table. Suddenly, he whisks their empty cups away and heads to the bar, the magician stares off after him. Her attention was stolen by shrill bickering erupting from the card player’s table. Spectators threw their hands up in the air in disbelief. Her dark eyes flicker back to Julian making quick work at the bar. He smiles at her on the way back until he’s accosted at the card game by a boney claw snatching his wrist. After careful consideration, he leans in and whispers in the haggard woman’s ear and taps on a card in her hand. The card is played, throwing the crowd into chaos. The sly doctor ducked away just before someone tries to douse him with their drink and heads back to his and the magician’s shared table. “You would think I’d know better than to get involved with politics,” he chuckled, setting the respective drinks in front of them. A small smile tugs briefly at the corner of her mouth.

“Looks like you know all the right moves.” He cocks an eyebrow and smiles roguishly as one arm leans on the table, striking a debonair pose. It was easy to talk to him, easy to let your guard down around him. It takes every ounce of Armyah’s effort to remember that this man was dangerous.

“Well, once you make all the wrong ones…” He pushes off the table and slides deftly into the booth across from her. “What can I say?” he takes a swig from his stein which prompts her to take a drink as well, “Some call me clever, but I’m just…practiced in the art of weighing options.” His eye stares into his drink as he dons a more serious, almost mournful expression. “Options like ‘bad’ and ‘worse’. That’s life for you.” He rubs the back of his neck, glancing sidelong at the door, “or maybe I’m just paranoid…Barth, the barkeep, says I’ve got more in common with the raven than anyone else.” His eye snaps back to her face when she doesn’t say anything. She must have looked confused. “The rowdy one? He spends his time scouting for guards. Obsessively, even.” She vaguely remembers the skeletal bird flying in from the streets after them earlier. “He raises hell whenever they come by. Even the sight of the Count’s crest drives him wild.” He laughed half-heartedly, “oddly enough, I don’t think anyone really trained him to be that way.” He looks at the magician for a moment, “though, I supposed we’re all trained to be that way.” There’s sympathy in her dark, doe eyes…or maybe it’s pity. Either way she looks somber and almost like she’s lost. True, she’s unfamiliar with this part of the city, but something behind her eyes felt like she’s missing something, and it makes her melancholy.

CRASH! The raven bursts through a dusty window overhead and loops in the air with a guttural shriek. It beats itself against a string of bells and the tavern erupts into chaos, knowing exactly what it meant; palace guards! Patrons were clawing their way out every door and window, playing cards scattered forgotten on the floor. Armyah and Julian share a brief look of panic and rise swiftly to dive out of the booth. Grabbing her arm, he rushes her to the back door leading into the alley. The night is cold now and thick mist from the canal covers the ground. The doctor casts a frantic glance up and down the alley before pushing the fortune-teller into the shadows, covering her with his large, lanky frame.

“Armyah, listen to me…” Her blush from the proximity faded with the harshness of his voice, “go back up that road.” Her head follows his arm pointing up the street he was referring to. “Take a left, a right, then a sharp right and you’ll reach a round street. It’s long, but it’s a straight shot and it’ll take you as far as the marketplace.” He clasps his gloved hands on each of her shoulders. “You’ll be able to find you way from there, yes?” She nods hurriedly, and he led her to the mouth of the alley. “Up the road, left, right, sharp right, round street. Good luck.” With one last concerned glance at her face he releases her, and she darts up the road. He watches as her small figure disappears into the fog completely before he slinks into the shadows himself to escape.

Oil-slick rats vanish into the gutters and the apartments have their shutters locked. She casts a quick glance back down the ally, but Julian was already gone. The street had fallen silent and still, it was if Armyah was the only living thing in sight. Left…then right. Spectral alley cats scatter to the shadows as she whipped past them. The stone path is broken and winding, narrower and narrower until she reaches a very sharp right. A round, open street. This must’ve been the one the doctor was referring to. She slows her pace to a jog, heaving with exhaustion and her mind racing. She had always been wary of the palace guards, but she had never outright feared them. Even if this road did take her to the shop, even if she wasn’t spotted along the way, there was a good chance she would find them waiting there for her. Should she turn back? Should she try to find Julian? She wasn’t watching her footing lost in her thoughts, she trips over a vagrant’s knees and falls hard. She almost just jumps up and keeps on running, but their uniform causes her breath to catch in the throat; it was a stark white rabbit. She couldn’t believe it and by the look on the guard’s face, they don’t believe it either. How did they find her so soon? However, judging by the fact he was on the ground he wasn’t looking for her…he was hiding from her. Across the street, the ornate door to a carriage swings open and a dumbfounded Portia stares in disbelief at the pair tangled in a heap of limbs on the cobblestone.

“By the Gods…” she breathes. The Countess peeks her head out of the carriage and her ruby eyes go wide.

“Armyah?” she blinks rapidly, “Where on earth did you come from?” Portia points in the direction in which the magician came while Armyah and the guard unravel themselves from each other. “Uncanny…why, we only just arrived,” the Countess explained, “I agonized over choosing the right spot to hide and we finally settled on this one.” She turns to the rabbit guard, “Ludo, take the reins. We will be returning early.” The guard shuffled to the driver’s seat, still eyeing the fortune-teller in wonder and Portia hustles her inside. The interior was elaborately decorated with gold and white filigree and the seats were a luxurious red velvet. She settles tentatively into the plush seat; the Countess was eyeing her with delight. “It is extraordinarily rare that anyone should exceed my expectations, Armyah.” The magician’s face glows red with a mixture of embarrassment from the praise and anger as she remembers why she was there in the first place: The Countess’s little “test”. “I apologize for what must have been a tedious trial to a magician of your prowess.” She pulls a silken pouch from her waist and passes it graciously to the younger woman. Her heartbeat beats at a hummingbird’s pace as she pulled the drawstring. The silk falls away to reveal an oxen figure…the Emperor card. She can almost feel the deck at the bottom of her bag react to its return. “I can only wonder…if you are the apprentice, then how proud the master must be.” The Countess’s knowing smile makes the magician fidget. Though she had won the game, it was she who was being eyed as if she were the prize. Staring down at the Emperor, she can’t help but feel as if he and the other Arcana were making a joke out of her. “Do take this time to rest, Armyah,” the Countess places an elegant hand on the fortune-teller’s knee, exposed by the length of the lent dress, “it will be a while before we arrive, and a feast will be waiting for you.” The magician’s stomach twists with the very thought of food, “and a bath, if you will agree to it.” Armyah looked down, her palms and shins were filthy from falling over the rabbit guard. She nodded absent-mindedly and looked out of the window to the misty night as the carriage lurches into action, the sharp sound of hoofbeats echoing. She was a fool to think she could leave so easily, she must’ve been there for a reason. It was either sheer dumb luck or divine intervention that caused her to trip over the very person she should have been looking for just as the Countess’s carriage was mere feet away. She was almost naïve enough to say it was destiny that brought her to his point, to be the Countess’s private investigator to bring her husband’s murderer to justice.

The murderer…her thoughts shift to Doctor Devorak. To Julian. She tried to deny it, but a part of her hoped that he had got away safely. It was awfully kind of him to give her directions on how to get back to the shop, especially when he knew she came from the palace originally. He certainly didn’t look like a murderer. Then again, what do murderers really look like? Do they typically have charming smiles and eyes that gleam with mischief? Or have billowing shirts opened past their navel, hair the same color as on their heads speckled across their chest and all the way down…Armyah blinked rapidly, flushing and shaking the intrusive thought away. Realizing where they were, the white monolith loomed over the carriage as they approached. The Countess was turned toward the window with a serene smile and Portia was picking at her nails in comfortable silence. They arrive at the massive door to the palace and a host of servants sweep the magician away as soon as she steps off the coach. Tightly flanked on both sides, she was led through the halls and past her guest quarters and to a bathing hall. A servant moves to remove her dress.

“No!” Armyah exclaimed. All hustling freezes and a half dozen eyes stare at the magician who shifts anxiously, “I’ll do it…thank you.” A moment’s hesitation, but the servants bow politely and leave her to her bath. She disrobes and pads over to the large marble tub. Like everything else in the palace, the bath chamber was beautiful and ornate. The steam from the perfumed water seemed to beckon her closer and she gave in. With an almost sinful groan, the magician sunk into the pool and let the day’s tension and filth melt away. She is caught off guard by the sound of someone clearing their throat. Forgetting herself, she stands and whips around to the intruder. Portia was leaning casually against the doorway with a bundle of lavender fabric.

“Milady is waiting for you in the dining room, she’d like if you would wear this.” She set the new outfit on a tiled bench against the far wall and threw the other girl a cheeky smile. Then it fell. “Oh Armyah…” she whispered pitifully, “what happened?” The magician glanced down and noticed her breasts were exposed and with them, her scars. She quickly sinks back into the water self-consciously.

“It’s nothing…” she mumbles. Taking the hint, Portia simply nods and slips out of the room, leaving Armyah to her thoughts and the softly sloshing water. She reaches for the oils lined on the edge of the tub. Choosing the one scented with rose water, she uncorks the vial and pours a generous amount into her palm and washes her hair and body thoroughly. Satisfied with her bath, she exits the pool and crosses the luxurious bathroom, leaving a small river in her wake, to the bench Portia left the garments on. She wraps the beautiful silk robe around her petite frame and the gown falls to her ankles. She ties her mass of dark curls into a knot of the top of her head and steps into the beaded white slippers that were left for her as well. When she exits the bath chamber, Portia is waiting outside, fingers tapping awkwardly against the wall. Armyah doesn’t look at her.

“Soooo…” Portia searches for something to say to ease the tension, “you look a little trip into town today, huh?” She winks at the magician, “meet up with anybody special?” Armyah turns away, blushing at the insinuation, causing Portia to snort with laughter. She claps a hand on the fortune-teller’s back and leads her briskly toward the dining hall. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” If Portia only knew the secret she was keeping, she may be less inclined to keep it to herself. The grand doors of the dining room swing open to reveal an expensive feast, piled high upon the long table. She’s immediately overwhelmed by the sumptuous smells of Vesuvian spices before her.

“Why, if it isn’t my champion of the hour, fresh from the bath,” the Countess was already seated at the head of the table. A servant seats Armyah in her usual seat and fills the goblet in front of her with a pale rose beverage. The Countess raises her already full glass to toast, “to Armyah, whose talents have exceeded my highest expectations.” Armyah was still a little miffed about the game, but right now she was just looking forward to digging into delicious food. “Let us be strangers no longer and may this be the beginning of a valuable friendship.” The magician flushed, no one said anything about friends. She thought she was only here to catch the Counts murderer. ‘Alleged murderer,’ she reminded herself. “I look forward to a long and fruitful partnership with you. I’m sure you will not disappoint.” Her ruby eyes gleam and she drains her cup in on swift motion, setting it down gently once she’s done. Armyah takes a sip, the delicate floral taste reminds her of the Countess’s perfume. “Tomorrow, we will dine together with my courtiers. They are most eager to make your acquaintance.” The magician gulped, having to impress people is definitely not her specialty. “I have no doubt they will find you absolutely charming. They will want to know everything about you but choose wisely what you wish to tell.” Also not one of Armyah’s strong suits, she has a habit of not thinking before she speaks when she’s nervous. “I am also going to be telling them the news of the Masquerade, I know they’ll be excited.” The magician only nodded as she chewed her food, the ways of the court were foreign to her. Thankfully, the Countess with be with her; she trusted the woman to not allow her to be too much of an embarrassment. “Portia and a retinue of our loudest servants will be going to town tomorrow to make the announcement. She has asked that you go with them.” She looks to the servant who only winks in response. “We must ensure there is a sufficient audience for our final spectacle,” the Countess’s wicked grin is unnerving, “When the doctor hangs, he will hang for all to see.” Armyah immediately thinks of Julian, bathed in the warm, welcoming light of the tavern, swinging from the gallows. Her heart grows cold at the image, but she is careful not to let it show on her face. The Countess waves her graceful hand dismissively.

“But these are tomorrow’s matters,” she smiles brightly at the magician, “tonight, Armyah, I have questions.”

“Questions?” she asked apprehensively. She’s startled by the sudden attention; the Countess was watching her so carefully.

“Yes, I wish to become more familiar with you if we are to be working so closely.” Now she remembers the toast to their “friendship”, but she never expected the Countess to have any interest in who she was. Frankly, Armyah doesn’t know much about herself aside from the last three years. However, the Countess asked simple questions: How was she enjoying the city, her daily goings on, her favorite thing to eat. The anxious magician only provides one-word answers and doesn’t ask anything in return. She isn’t sure if the Countess could tell she was nervous, but she didn’t elude to it if she did. “You are a woman of few words, Armyah. Are you tired? Or perhaps shy?” The fortune-teller’s face tinged red. “No worries. Portia, please escort our friend here to her chambers.” Servants whisked away her empty plate and Portia was at her side in an instant. “I do hope you have a pleasant evening, Armyah.” The Countess leaves with one last wry smile.

“Well, that was an eventful day, huh?” Portia laughed warmly, “Come on, I’ll walk you back to your room.” Armyah nods gratefully and follows after the servant’s brisk footsteps. The hallway is void of any life besides the magician and her escort. Their footsteps echo as they walk side by side. “Things are a lot more interesting around here since you showed up,” Portia said, smiling, “Did you see the look on Ludo’s face when we found you both on the ground?” She talks about the guards as if they’re old friends. Possibly she knows all the servants at the palace well.

“Do you spend a lot of time with the other servants?”

“We work together pretty closely,” she nodded, “it’s my job to know who and what’s happening in the palace.” Portia winks conspiratorially at Armyah as they arrive at the door to the guest room. It seemed as if the staff came during the day to tidy up and placed a fresh pitcher of water on the desk. Incense burned by the window, the hazy swirls of wood and spice made her a bit homesick; Asra always burned incense at the shop. Portia looked as if she was dying to ask the magician a question, but she hesitates. She smoothed a paper on the desk and Armyah recognized it as the ones she took from Julian’s desk in the library.

“You looked concerned…” she urges.

“Who me?” Portia tries to play off her apprehension before sighing in defeat. “It’s just…I don’t know. There are other suspects, right?” She wrung her hands nervously, “sure, many people loved the Count, but, between you and me, I think he had a lot of enemies too.”

“Enemies? Like who?” Armyah couldn’t imagine anyone speaking out openly against the Count. Portia shakes her head and runs her hands down her skirt.

“I wasn’t employed at the palace when it happened,” she explained, “I’ve only heard rumors of what went on that night. Just…” She pauses as if she’s not sure how to continue, “keep your eyes peeled for anything suspicious, alright?” Smiling slyly, Portia leans in toward the fortune-teller, her voice low, “you know…if you’re not too tired yet, I could show you around the palace. There’s a lot of interesting things on the palace grounds and maybe I could show you some secrets?” Her smile is teasing, but her eyes are genuine.

“Show me the secrets,” Armyah couldn’t help but giggle, it felt as if she were sneaking out past curfew.

“I knew there was something I liked about you,” Portia linked her arm around the magicians, “I can tell we’re going to be great friends.” Armyah liked the sound of that, the thought didn’t leave a bad taste in her mouth like when the Countess said it. “Oh, where do we want to start? There’s the mulch pile, the Freaky Foyer, the servant’s quarters…” Portia tapped her chin in thought until her face lights up. “Oh, I know! Come on, I’ll show you the really good stuff!” She led the fortune-teller down the hall with a bounce in her step. “You’ve already seen most of the palace itself,” she pushes open some swinging doors and leads the pair into a vast kitchen. A person in a flour-dusted apron lifted their head and smiled at the sight of their fellow servant.

“Portia! Still one duty for the night?” they asked while waving cheerfully.

“Not exactly,” she replied, “I’m just showing Armyah around the place!” The chef tossed her a roll from across the counter and she caught it without looking, she turned to the magician, “This is the kitchens. If you ever find yourself hungry at midnight, the door’s always open. Just make sure you don’t ruin Hestion’s breakfast prep.” She pockets another roll with a wink and slides one to Armyah while the chef isn’t looking, “I’m not responsible for any harm that might befall you.” They exit the kitchen and Portia leads them down a small hall to a painting of the two white hounds. A pile of pomegranates spilt out at their feet, “This is a secret passage I like to use to get to the veranda. It saves a lot of time when you’re in a hurry.” She grips the edge of the frame and swings it open, revealing a hidden archway. The servant glances over her shoulder at the other woman, “think you could help us out with a little light?” Smiling, Armyah focused her magic as an orb of warm light materialized from her fingertips and float around them like fireflies. Portia’s blue eyes are alight with wonder, “wooooow…would you look at that? You’re pretty good at this magic stuff.” They pass through the arch into a larger dusty passage. The walls were lined with paintings of various animals, all pure white with glinting ruby eyes. Armyah shivers involuntarily; the eyes looked as if they were following the duo, watching them. “This used to be the Counts ‘Menagerie Gallery’, but no one goes in here anymore. They say there’s a ghost wandering these halls. Some say a voice will call out your name as you’re walking by and if you follow it you’ll never be seen again!” Armyah looked to the girl dubiously making the servant laugh, “Servants are always popping up after shirking their duties like ‘Ooooh! The Gallery Ghost got me!” She places her hands on her hip to imitate annoyance, “and then I’m like ‘okay, but if you’re never seen again then how come I’m seeing you?” The magician laughs heartily at Portia’s story, “Turns out they fell asleep in the larder and wanted to blame the ghost.” She led Armyah to the veranda where dozens of servants were hanging out, socializing after a long day’s work. Portia greeted every single one by name as they passed, she really did know everyone. Portia led her down the stairs to the garden, the very steps she had run down earlier that day after the two costumed guards.

“Sometimes, when I’m not working, I like to explore around here,” Portia tittered excitedly, “Never know what you might find.” She points off to a small mound in the distance, “if you go to that little hill over there, you can get a real good look at the stars.” She smiles brightly at the magician. “Especially on clear nights like this.” They entered the maze that lead to the fountain that Armyah had stumbled upon her first night at the palace. Portia walk briskly and with confidence, obviously well acquainted with the winding paths. “I know it’s getting pretty late, but I’ve got one last stop before the end of the tour,” she winked and grinned mischievously…her smile looked almost familiar. “I think you’re really going to like it,” the servant takes the fortune-teller’s hand and leads her through the twisting hedges to a crumbling old arch, the very same arch she had encountered in the maze while chasing the guard earlier that day. The door was still there, but it was even less visible in the dark. Armyah could feel a faint whisper of magic licking at her skin, beckoning her closer to the arch. She took a hesitant, involuntary step toward it. Reaching out to the swirling wisps of magical energy. Her hand passes through the arch, but it disappears into nothingness. Snapping her outstretched arm back and clutching the formerly gone hand to her chest. She looks bewilderedly at the woman next to who only laughs. “You want to go through?” The magician looks skeptically back at the portal and nods slowly. Portia, still giggling, takes her by the hand and pulls her through the archway. In an instant, they are no longer in the garden, but in a brightly lit hallway inside the palace. They can hear the faint chatting of servants in the distance. “Isn’t that amazing?” Portia gripped Armyah in excitement, “I bet there are portals like this all over the palace that lead to lots of different places on one’s seen!” Her smile is contagious, the fortune-teller couldn’t help but grin back at her friend. “This palace has a lot of secrets…” the servant took her hand once again and pulled her down the hall. She was walking backwards so she was still facing Armyah. “Maybe you can help me find more,” she winked, “I bet a great magician like you would have no problem finding them all.” She turned back around, still leading her friend by the hand. “But I’ve kept you long enough. We’ve got an early morning tomorrow.” Armyah groaned at the thought of waking up at sunrise again causing Portia to laugh. She led the magician back to the guest room and paused just inside the door. “Thanks for coming with me, Armyah,” she smiles warmly, “I’m really excited you’re here. I think we’ll have a lot of fun together.” She pulls Armyah into a tight hug, her arms are strong. It catches her off guard, but she returns the gesture. “Sorry,” Portia chuckled, letting her go, “I’m a hugger.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Arymah smiles back, “I don’t mind.” She wouldn’t say she was a “hugger” as well, but physical contact doesn’t bother her. She was happy that Portia and she were good enough friends to be able to offer the affection. The servant bid her good night and turned to leave.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” Portia whipped back to the magician, “Milady would like you to join us into town tomorrow for the announcement.” ‘Announcement?’ Then, Armyah remembered the Masquerade. They would be going to the town square to publicize the return on the beloved festival. Waving their goodbyes, Portia shut the large door behind her to leave the other girl alone in the empty room with her thoughts. With a heavy sigh, she kicked off the beaded slippers and let down her still-wet hair. She looked toward the nightdress she had brought herself and considered changing, but she definitely favored the silken robe given to her. Crawling under the plush duvet and snuggled into the comfortable bedding. It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep, she was exhausted from running around all night. She drifted off with images of a certain red-headed doctor behind her eyelids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know how I'm doing! Find me at tumblr.com/polynymph


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Swearing, Julian being a subby, touch-starved boi

The wagon bounced on the uneven road of the town square. The sun was just rising as Portia, Armyah, and a few other members of the palace staff arrived at the market. It was hot, but the dress the Countess had chosen for the magician that day was a sleeveless, off-the-shoulder type. She had never worn anything like it, but at least the length was much more modest than that of the sea green ensemble she had the day before. Portia was across from her, chatting away with another servant about matters in which Armyah didn’t understand. However, she did recognize the word “courtiers” and the mere mention of them made her stomach drop and fingers twist around the mint fabric of her garment. She would be meeting them today. Turning to look out the window and clutching her bag to her chest, she tried to focus her mind on the bustling crowd. Suddenly, the coach lurches to a stop and the group file out onto the busy street. Armyah is careful not to trip down the stair in her borrowed, nude heels. A handful of servants and the magician huddle around Portia, awaiting orders. The stout woman clapped her hands and rubbed them together confidently.

“Alright everybody, listen up,” she said loud enough for them all to hear, “noon o’clock we’ll be making the announcement here in the city square. ‘Til then, you all know your errands. Talk to me if you don’t. Any questions?” She looked to each member of staff in case there was any need for clarification, but they all nodded in understanding. She nodded, signaling for the servants to disperse. They spread out into the marketplace as she waited for them all to leave before turning her attention to her friend. “I thought you’d might like to check on your shop,” she smiled. Armyah breathed a sigh of relief, Portia knew she was homesick. “I’ll try to find you, but if I don’t, try to be back here by noon.” They waved goodbye to each other and the servant disappeared into the throng. The magician turned on her heel and walked briskly, excited to see her home. She knew the way like the back of her hand; right, straight on, then down the ally. There it was…her own little oasis. Even in the misty overcast in the sky the shop seemed to glow. Practically skipping up the steps, she rested her palm on the heavy wood door to release the sealing spell. Her hands shaking from glee, she unlocked the first two locks, but fumbled and dropped the keys before she could get to the third. The fortune-teller dipped down to retrieve them, but paused when she spotted a small, leather pouch resting on the stoop. Taking the rough material in her hand, she could feel the energy resonating from it. She picked at the knot and pulled the string open; herbs, bark, resin, and incense…a magic mixture. She poured a small amount into her palm and inhaled deeply. There were hints of sage and marrow root, but the strongest scent was myrrh; a protection aura. She had a strange sense of déjà vu as she smelled the strong aroma, but she couldn’t place it. She casted a sidelong glance to either side of the street, but there wasn’t a soul in sight. Pocketing the pouch, she reached back down for her keys and turned the final lock. However, just as she leaned on the door it swung open and she nearly collided with a person standing in the doorway. Doctor Devorak was looking right at her, eye just as wide as hers. She freezes in her tracks, struggling to speak. For a moment, they both just stare at the other.

“Armyah! Fancy seeing you here,” Julian smiled awkwardly, guilt written all over his face. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d check to see if you’d gotten home all right.” He fidgeted under her incredulous glare, “and here you are, getting home all right! Marvelous!” He laughed weakly, and she put a hand on her hip disapprovingly, “I’ll, ah…stop wringing my hands now.” For a second, she thought about calling for the guards, but she hesitated. This was the second time he had been in her shop; the guards might think she was harboring him. At least, that’s what she told herself. Regardless, she fixed him with a narrow gaze.

“How am I supposed to believe you?” she was a little indignant, how was he even getting in with the protection spell? “You’ve broken in not once, but twice now! What are you after?” He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed and trying to look innocent. Trying and failing.

“What? What am I after?” he stammered, “Why, I’m not after anything. What would I be…” He trailed off, eye going wide, “Oh, you don’t think I’m a thief, do you?” He smiled that roguish grin of his, “I’m a lot of things, but not that.” She wasn’t budging.

“And I’m supposed to just take you at your word?” she asked suspiciously. That mischievous smirk never left his face as he shucks off his overcoat and starts to unbutton his black waistcoat. She flushes deep crimson, but she can’t seem to look away from the doctor. He’s in the same billowing undershirt as the night before, his arms are outstretched and palm up in submission.

“Search me,” he challenges, “if you find something of yours, I’ll show myself to the stocks.” He grins wickedly at the magician, daring her. “Go ahead, search me until your satisfied.” Julian lowers his eye, presenting himself for inspection. Her ears grow hot at the insinuation, but the urge to wipe the smugness off his face outweighs her embarrassment. She drops her bag unceremoniously to the ground at her heels.

“I think I will,” she said as she took a languid step toward him. From the stunned look on his face, he obviously didn’t expect her to take him up on his offer. It was just as satisfying as she’d thought it would be.

“What, ah…what are you doing?” he shifted as she got closer, but his arms never lowered.

“Calling your bluff,” she teased. He looked almost impressed, but his smirk returned once again.

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” He puffed up his partially exposed chest, “Well then, don’t be shy. I promise I’ll be good.” Armyah was within arm’s length of him as her chocolate eyes roamed over his body. Tentatively, she ran her hands down one of his arms. She could feel how cool his skin was through the gauzy material of his shirt. Becoming a bit braver, she moved closer until there was a sliver of space between them; she doesn’t dare look up at his face. The leather of his gloves creaked as he flexed the lean muscles of his arm under her hand. Julian looked down, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration of her assessment. It was clear she was avoiding looking at him, but he couldn’t help but tease her. He loved how her cute, button nose crinkled in annoyance. “Ohh, you have such lovely hands,” he practically moaned, “you can squeeze a little harder, you know…I won’t mind.” There it was. The nose crinkle and a satisfying shade of crimson flooded her cheeks. She presses more firmly as she follows her evaluation down his other arm. Did he dare test the limits? Yes…yes he would, “come to think of it, I haven’t seen you up close in broad daylight before,” he purred, “you’re much prettier than I realized, I’d like to get a little closer.” He reached for her, clever fingers wrapping themselves around her slender wrists and tugging, trying to close that last inch of space between their bodies.

“Stop moving,” she demanded harshly. His eye went wide, and the tips of his ears burned. He didn’t know she had it in her. Her commanding tone stirred something within him that he hadn’t felt in a long time, causing him to bite his lip. He had the overwhelming urge to drop to his knees in front of her and beg forgiveness; swear to her up and down that he’ll be good for her. Instead, he obediently dropped his arm back to his side. Armyah looked questioningly at Julian’s reaction. Feeling bold, she circled behind him as if she were a predator and he, her prey. He twisted around to watch her, not willing to let her out of his sight while in such a vulnerable position. His eye is bright with interest making her face warm under his shameless stare.

“I had no idea you were so…hands-on,” he chuckled, “how daring of you. Aren’t you afraid someone will see?” She knew he was baiting her, but she almost backed off. The only thing stopping her was sheer curiosity; she wondered what other reactions she could get out of him.

“Did I say you could move?” she took a less harsh, but no less authoritative tone. She got the same response: blushing hard and chewing his bottom lip.

“I, ah…no,” he stuttered, flustered, “you didn’t.” Did he have a thing for being bossed around? ‘Interesting…’ she filed that information away in the back of her mind.

“Then turn back around.” He complied without hesitation. She slid her hands down his back and fine tremor rips through him, “besides…shouldn’t you be the one afraid of being seen?” He struggles to speak as her fingers continue to trace the length of his spine.

“Er, well, I suppose that’s true.” She places her hand on his hip and moved around to face him again, trailing over his hipbone to check his pocket. An unexpected hard edge is ridged under her palm. ‘Is that…?’ She pulls her hand away swiftly in panic, losing her nerve. She actively looked anywhere but his red face.

“It’s not what you think!” he explained quickly, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a small pocket knife and held it up to show her. She breathed a sigh of relief, but she was quite finished with searching him.

“What are looking for?” she asked evenly, “maybe I can help you find it?” He looks almost terrified at the very idea.

“Oh no no no no…” he shook his head vigorously, “you don’t want to be caught up in…this.” He gestured broadly to himself. She looked at him curiously.

“I just meant that I know where to find everything in the shop,” she explained, “are you looking for something specific?” Julian’s throat bobbed when he swallowed, and he let out a slow, shaky sigh.

“I…I was looking for answers.” He was frustratingly vague, almost like Arsa. “But I didn’t find any. Not the ones I wanted, anyways.”

“Alright,” she shrugged.

“Wait…what?” he looked at her as if she had two heads.

“I believe you.”

“Really?” She smiled sincerely.

“Really.” He rolled his eye at the magician.

“Terrible idea,” he stared off in the distance, over her shoulder, “you shouldn’t trust anyone, Armyah, least of all me.” He retrieves his overcoat with a showy flourish and slipped it back on. “I do hope your satisfied, though.” He fastened the silver buttons of his waistcoat back in place before returning his attention to her once more. “Well, I’m sure you have things to do, so I’ll just be getting out of your way.” He takes a wide step, contorting his long, lanky form to allow her to pass.” Armyah’s eyes follow around to him.

“Doctor Devorak-” she started but was interrupted by his hand raising for her to stop.

“Take care, Armyah,” he says softly, “If the powers that be should ever entangle us again…” He smiles, but not that mischievous grin of his, it’s genuine. “Call me Julian.” His eyes flicker to something behind her. His broad grin takes only a second to fade before shock takes over his features. The hairs at the nape of her neck stand on end. Slowly, she looks over her shoulder. Portia had come to find her, but she wasn’t looking at the magician. All of her focus, the suspended disbelief in her wide eyes, was focused on the man behind her. Armyah looks back at Julian who pays her no mind. Tears well up in his stormy eye.

“Ilya?” Portia squeaked. She couldn’t believe he was in front of her. After all these years she thought he was dead. He looked different, more stern; no longer that gangly teenager with the voice that cracked with every other word. Oh, how she made fun of him. She stumbled forward, throwing herself at the doctor. The magician had to back into the wall to get out of her way. “Ilya is it really you?” Fat tears were rolling down her face. Her shaking hands fall to either side of Julian’s face. He smiled at the small woman.

“It’s me…” It came out as barely a whisper. Armyah looked between the two: the same auburn hair, stormy eyes, and strong jawline. There was almost a family resemblance between them. You could even say…the magician’s breath caught in her throat as she remembered the letter she had gotten from his desk in the library. Dear sister…

“You bastard!” Portia cried, banging a fist weakly against his chest, “What are you doing here out in the open? Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Her fingers curl, tugging at his ears and drawing a shameful wince from the teary-eyed man.

“You’ve grown so strong, Pasha…” he choked, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to see it.” Her face flushed with anger as she let go of Julian’s ears.

“Ohh, I’ll show you sorry, you son of a bitch!” she rasped. Then, she remembered the woman beside them. “Armyah!” The magician went ridged at the shorter woman. “I-I…I’ll catch up with you later.” Portia pulls the floundering doctor into a nearby alley as the fortune-teller grabs her bag and ducks into her shop, shutting the door behind her. She looks around the deserted store, nothing looked to be out of place. Stooping under the curtain to the back room, the familiar smoky scent of incense fills her senses. Running a hand forlornly along the reading table, Armyah’s gaze falls on a pile of Arsa’s belongings in the corner; clothing and magical relics. The Countess’s theory resonates in her mind: maybe one of his possessions could give her an inkling of wear he might be. She picks up a carved totem of some sort, but nothing. She tries an ivory statue, even a shirt he wore before he left, but none of his things carry even a trace of his magic. Sighing in defeat, Armyah pads across the shop to the door. Once last mournful glance at her home before she stepped out into the street and locks the door. She considered skipping the cross-me-not spell since the doctor was getting in anyway, but she decided it was better safe than sorry. The magician places a cool palm on the wood grain and summoned an aura of protection over the door. The temple bell chimes loudly twelve times, signaling noon.

She rushes to the town square, following the dull roar of the crowd. Portia is already there, her eyes still raw from crying. She on the edge of the fountain so she can be better heard. The statue of Count Lucio on his rearing horse looms over her.

“Hear ye, hear ye!” she calls out to the crowd, “This is an announcement from the palace of your Countess Nadia!” The square was densely packed with people, smaller folk and latecomers circling the perimeter for a better view. Armyah slid carefully amongst the buzzing crowd. “On the eve of the passing of your most glorified Count Lucio, the Countess will open the palace gates once more!” People around her start chatting excitedly, “that’s right, folks! All are invited not to mourn, but to celebrate the spirit of our dearly departed Count!” A ripple of loud enthusiasm passes through the crowd, but Armyah was distracted by the familiar scent of myrrh. She turns her head and finds a hulking figure in the shadows underneath the pillars that surround the square. Their eyes are shrouded under a hood and heavy brow. Though the excitement in the square is growing, the figure looks more like a harbinger of despair. “It’ll be a Masquerade like no other before!” Portia continued over the bustling mob, “Spread the word, tell your friends! You won’t want to miss this!” As the crowd erupts in chatter, the massive stranger moves down a side street, the magician dashing after them. The stranger’s lumbering pace that’s easy to follow and she catches up to him halfway down the street.

“Have…have we met before?” she calls out to him; surely, she would remember seeing a person of his stature, but her mind draws a blank. He turned slowly as if he dreaded the very sight of the young magician.

“Yes,” he said monotonously, his voice like rumbling thunder. He shuffles away with a suffering look as the chain around his neck rattles with each heaving step. Did he leave the pouch at the shop? Did he know Arsa? However, before she could ask he had already disappeared into the shadows. Armyah headed back to the town square where Portia was tossing flower petals and rice onto dancing cityfolk. Noticing the fortune-teller, she climbs down from the fountain and jogs over to her.

“Armyah, there you are!” she exclaimed with excitement, “You missed the beg reveal! Would you look at this crowd?” She gestured behind her to the celebration. Motioning for the magician to follow, they both climbed up the steps to the servant’s coach. Portia plopped down on the plush seat and patted next to her for her friend to sit. “No incidents back at the shop I hope?” her smile had a shade of desperation, “nothing out of the ordinary?” Portia’s eyelid batted at a hummingbird’s pace, pleading.

“Umm…no,” Armyah faltered, “everything is just as I left it.” Portia looked torn, like she wanted to explain what happened back in front of the store, but she couldn’t muster the courage. The wagon lurched to life, chased by wild laughter down the street with ringing news of the upcoming Masquerade. The magician wrung her fingers with the strap of her bag. She had so many questions for Portia, but there were too many people around. Maybe if she asked something simpler… “Do you have any family?” It seemed vague enough, but the look on her friend’s face was pained.

“A brother…” she said carefully, “I haven’t seen him since we were kids, though.” Armyah could see the resemblance back when they were next to each other. She should have seen it before, they both have that mischievous glint in their eye. “You?” The fortune-teller didn’t know how to answer besides “I don’t know”. She didn’t really want to get in to her past, or lack thereof, with so many other staff around.

“No,” she lied…or maybe she wasn’t lying. The air between the two grew awkward and neither of them looked the other in the eye so they made the rest of the trek to the palace in silence. When the palace came into view, Armyah saw the bridge lined with carriages.

“Oh!” Portia squeaks, “the courtiers must have arrived!” A shiver ran from the magician’s head to the base of her spine. Portia must have notice, because she gives Armyah’s arm a comforting squeeze. “Don’t worry, remember these people can’t wait to meet you!” It doesn’t help calm her nerves. “I’ll be right there the whole time.” Armyah gave her friend a strained smile. When the coach comes to a halt, all the servants file out and dissolve into the corridors of the palace. Portia links her arm with the magician and escorts her through a wing of the palace that smells strongly of incense a half dozen different perfumes. Armyah could tell they have reached the parlor door by the music and cackling laughter from within. ‘They’re just people…’ she told herself over and over. The room was hazy, swimming with elegant plumes of smoke and it took all of her effort not to cough. Figures sprawled lazily on pillowed couches. The Countess noticed her first, glancing up from behind a gleaming pipe organ as she played a victorious chord. “Announcing Armyah,” Portia declared after clearing her throat, “friend of the palace and skilled magician!” Every head turned to face her, the apprentice’s face grew hot at the attention. “Armyah, this is Pontifex Vulgora, Procurator Volta, Praetor Vlastomil, Quaestor Valdemar, and Consul Valerius.” She gestured at the corresponding person as she introduced them.

“Welcome, Armyah,” the Countess greeted coolly. The sight of her lifted a bit of tension from the magician’s shoulders.

“Ooooh! This is Armyah?” the stout woman Portia had introduced as Procurator Volta asked as she picked off the refreshment tray, “She’s cuter than I imagined!” She wore a robe like a nun’s, but no holy symbol. However, there was a broach of a red beetle clasped to her chest. Armyah noticed that her right eye was completely white.

“What a delightful surprise,” Praetor Vlastomil was bony, deathly pale man clad in black from head to toe. Something in his eyes was unsettling to the magician. Perhaps it was because his pupils were vertical slits like a cat. Her eyes narrowed at the red beetle broach that he, too, had fastened to his shirt.

“Sit, Sit!” Pontifex Vulgora piped up, patting the seat beside them with a clawed gauntlet. “Sit here beside me, Armyah! Don’t be shy!” Their red tinged face and wide lizard-like eyes make the fortune-teller shift with uncertainty. She hadn’t expected such enthusiasm with their welcome. They all seemed very delighted to see her, making her feel more at ease. A cold, metal hand took hold of her wrist and pulled her down onto the couches and into the fold of conversation. The Countess watches carefully from her seat where she plays the organ, drawing contemplative tones.

“Tell me, Armyah,” she asked evenly, “how was the announcement received?” The magician was about to answer, but she was interrupted by a thin, almost green complexioned person in a doctor’s uniform.

“One can only imagine!” the previously announced Quaestor Valdemar had smirked, “Even we, the favorites of the Countess, closest to her heart, had no idea!” They seem almost indignant that they weren’t told beforehand.

“That or dear Countess, who shares everything with us, could orchestrate such a surprise!” Volta grated as she stuffed a handful of finger sandwiches into her mouth. Vulgora eyes the Countess in vexation from their seat next to Armyah.

“A surprise Masquerade!” they inflated, “How lucky we are, not having to worry about planning for it!” The Countess struck a low, irritated sounding chord.

“How lucky Armyah would have to be to get a word in with all of you,” she rolled her brilliant, ruby eyes. “My goodness.” All eyes were on the magician again, causing her to squirm under their hungry eyes.

“Oh, but how lucky she already is!” Vlastomil acclaims, “to be taken in by the Countess, an unproven, unknown apprentice!”

“And to take such a, dare I say, chance?” Volta agreed, “so very unlike our most thoughtful and meticulous Countess.” The Countess scoffed.

“It was not chance that led me to Armyah’s door,” she sneered.

“Then perhaps the Countess could inform her adoring court…” a deep, smooth voice rumbled from the chaise on the far wall. A man with a long braid that faded flawlessly from black to blonde was swirling his glass of wine in his elegant hand. “…how exactly it was the she arrived at the witch’s door that night.” Valerius looked much too young to be a Consul. His sophisticated grey robe embellished with gold trim revealed much about his status. He was very severe with golden, piercing eyes. Handsome, if not unsettling. He stood from his seat, not bothering to set down his glass and paced over to the magician, eyes evaluating her. “Or perhaps the witch might tell us herself?” The tone of his voice was condescending, he sneered as he called her a “witch”. It wasn’t specifically a derogatory name for people like her, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.

“Perhaps don’t call me that…” Armyah spat venomously. The rest of the courtiers round on Valerius, gasping with bright, hungry eyes. Almost as if there were waiting with baited breath on how he would respond.

“Witch?” he asked in mock ignorance, boots clicking as he walked over to the opposite side of the room. “Is that not your occupation?” He smiled and glanced over his shoulder at the young woman, “ah, forgive my mistake. You are but an apprentice.” They all turned to back to the magician with hands fluttering over their mouths as if he had just paid her the greatest insult. The Consul held his narrow gaze even as the Countess’s sonorous voice rises over the whispers.

“You know,” she said, tired of the courtiers’ antics, “if you all wanted to know so badly how that night transpired, you might have simply asked.” She rolls her eyes, “as it happens, I was having some trouble sleeping-”

“As you have been for some time, Countess!” Volta piped up.

“Yes, Procurator…” she ground through gritted teeth, “as I have been for some time, I was having trouble sleeping.” The Countess took a deep, calming breath before she continued, “on that night, I woke haunted by the spectre of a dream with no escape for my mind: no comfort from my terrors nor anyone to whom I could turn, who might understand them.” Mournful, she places a graceful hand over her heart to extenuate her grief. “Indeed, I was in a desperate state…desperately seeking someone, anyone who may be of help to me.” Her version was a bit more dramatic than the story Armyah would have told. ‘She knocked on my door, asked me to stay at the palace for a bit, and then I gave her a reading and she left’ was a more apt description. “It was I who was lucky, to come across the one I needed so soon. A benevolent universe brought us together, did it not, Armyah?” The Countess’s glimmering eyes fell fondly on the fortune-teller. The courtiers shift, studying her with a new intensity, causing her to squirm in her seat uncomfortably. The moment was seized by an airy sigh as Valerius peers at her through his wine glass.

“A benevolent universe brought you together?” he ridicules incredulously, “with all due respect, Countess, your mind may have been too occupied of late…” His thin, tapered hand swayed in the magician’s direction, swinging his wine glass with it. “To see the full capacity of our wide and welcoming arms!” The Consul threw his arms wide, sending a sparkling arc of wine sailing from his glass and splashing across the front of a dumbstruck Armyah, soaking her borrowed dress. A collective gasp swept the room as the heady liquid seeped through to her olive skin. The Countess’s expression as she strikes a sour chord and rises from the organ was practically murderous. “Oh, my apologies,” he shrugged nonchalantly, a satisfied smile stretched across his face, “how clumsy of me! Surely, a witch as skilled as you knows some hocus or pocus to remedy this dilemma?”

“Enough, Valerius!” the Countess boomed, “You have exhausted my patience for tonight.” She marched over to the young magician and wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders. “All out you, out! To your chambers!” The courtiers skittered out of the room like scolded children. Valerius, with a smirk, bowed dramatically as he exited the parlor. “I would appreciate if you could make it there without spilling, but I won’t count on it,” she called after him. She looked to the wine-soaked fortune-teller and shook her head, sighing, “I am sorry, Armyah,” she tutted, “I had imagined many outcomes to this evening’s affair and I must admit…this was one of them.” The Countess lowered her eyes, gazing mournfully at the ruined dress. “We must rid you of these garments, but I have taken enough liberties with your wardrobe,” she beamed at the magician, “so please, do not hesitate. Tell me what you would like, spare no expense.” Portia stood ready as the Countess laced her jeweled fingers together, both eagerly awaiting Armyah’s request. It seemed as if the Countess wanted her to ask for fine silks and riches. Perhaps she enjoyed showing people with gifts? Or was this an apology for the “test” a day before? Whatever it was, Armyah didn’t have to consider long…she knew exactly what she wanted.

“My old clothes, please,” she squeaked. Portia’s warm smile stretched from one ear to the other, the Countess, however, did not look amused.

“Ah, I thought you might say that,” the servant chuckled. The Countess regained her composer and gave the magician an even look.

“I suppose you would…” she said nonchalantly, “you shall have your old clothes then, Armyah.” She looked away, thoughtful, as if she were debating whether or not to say something. “I regret if this comes as a surprise, Armyah…” her brilliant garnet eyes met the magician’s somberly, “but your comfort here is of great importance to me.” The air was filled with a brief moment of awkward tension, “Portia will escort you to your chambers where you will be bathed, and your garments returned.” Armyah shifted her weight from one leg to the other, uncomfortable, afraid that she had offended the Countess. “I believe you will find them much as you left them.” She turned away from her servant and guest, Portia seizing the moment to lead her friend out of the parlor and down the hall; the melodious sound of the pipe organ chasing after them. Armyah couldn’t help but feel as though she were a child being sent to bed after disappointing their guardian. Portia and the magician were silent as they walked the brightly lit halls of the palace to the bath chamber. She sunk into the steaming water and breathed a sigh of relief, the tranquil bathroom did much for her mind as it did her body. The same oils were lined along the tub, though the rose scented one she had used the precious night had been refilled. She was going to reach for it, but then her eye caught a familiar word marked on a glass vile: chamomile. Chamomile was her favorite flower; it was unassuming but had so much purpose. She uncorked the oil and sniffed deeply, the beautiful floral scent filled her. Though, she didn’t expect a twinge of pain behind her eyes. Maybe the concentrated aroma was overwhelming to her senses. Whatever the case, she poured a generous amount into her palm and washed thoroughly. After Armyah had bathed and changed into her comfortable handmade clothes, Portia returned her to her chambers. She bid her friend goodnight and shut the door behind the servant, turning and resting her back on the heavy door. A glint at the window caught her eye, a parcel was waiting for her by the window next to the incense burner; a tightly spiraled note perched on top, addressed to Armyah. ‘A gift for my dearest guest, this emerald which seemed to have called your name. Wear it in good health. -Nadia was written in flawless calligraphy. Even in writing, the magician could feel her imperious gaze, penetrating and full of contemplation. Unwrapping the paper, the gold chain slipped through her fingers as she held the jewel. In a gradual wave, she sensed the familiar energy wash over her. There was no mistaking it: this was Asra’s magic radiating from the gem in gentle, soothing ripples. She had remembered her unsuccessful search in the back room for a connection to her teacher. Now, with this brilliant trinket alive with his energy, she had a chance.

Armyah waited until the halls were quiet and the only sound was the metallic clanging of temple bells echoing through the city; midnight. She stole out of her room with the emerald hanging around her neck and dashed through the empty halls, the thought of hearing her old friend’s voice again causing her to shiver excitedly. She knew the way to the veranda well by now. Humid wind pulled and swelled against her, moving languidly down the stairs and through the garden. When she had reached the fountain under the weeping willow tree, she spotted someone familiar hanging from its branches.

“Faust!” Armyah exclaimed happily, the lavender serpent hissed gleefully. Did she know the magician was coming? Or was this where she spent her time? She coiled her way down the wide trunk of the tree. Armyah padded over to her, resting a gentle hand on her smooth head and trailed it down the snake’s slithering body as she glided across the bark and onto the soft grass. It was only then, when Armyah noticed the carving on the back side of the tree; Armyah. Her name etched into the mossy willow in her teacher’s recognizable handwriting. However, it was old…much older than the three years in which she remembered knowing him. Faust interrupted the magician’s thoughts by sliding up her leg and up to her shoulders. The serpent took immediate interest in the emerald, tongue flicking after it as Armyah unclasped the pendant from her neck. Returning to the gazing pool, she sat on the marble edge of the fountain. Closing her eyes and breathing deeply as she dangled the green gem over the water and dropped it in. Light caught every glimmering angle as it sunk to the bottom of the pool causing the water to change colors and shapes to bloom over it.

“You’re back,” a familiar voice breathed. Tall palms swept behind Arsa against a glittering sea of stars. His curly white hair catches starlight in every whorl. “I saw the water changing this time,” he smiled, happy to see his apprentice and familiar, “Faust, you’re looking lively. Being around Armyah does that to you, doesn’t it?” His bright, violet eyes twinkled as he laid his chin on his palm. He looked weary, which wasn’t too surprising. His sleeping habits were, as Armyah calls them, predictably unpredictable.

“You look tired,” she smiled, grateful to be able to see him and talk to him. He looked content, as if his secret escapades must had been fulfilling.

“Do I?” his silvery eyebrow raised, “I don’t feel tired. I was just about to get in the water, but you beat me to it.” His apprentice rolled her eyes at his joke. Faust slithered across Armyah’s lap, taking sniffing flicks at the water. “You two have definitely gotten closer,” Arsa beamed, “she’d opening up to you.” His eye shifted away from hers, guiltily. “It may be time for me to do the same.” Armyah’s breath caught in her throat. She must’ve made a face because Arsa laughed, high and unrestrained. “No really, it’s true! I want to start being more honest with you.” His time in…wherever he is must’ve given him a lot of time to think. “What’s on your mind? Ask me whatever you like, all that I ask is that you start being more honest with me, too.” He must have been talking about when she finally told him how she felt about being left behind in that dream.

“Who is Julian to you?” she asked, the burning question brought her relief as it left her lips. She had seen the depth of emotion that crosses the doctor’s face whenever he speaks of Asra. Her teacher, however, looked confused.

“Julian?” his eyes narrow in thought, then soften in realization, “Ah…he goes by that name too.” Armyah’s eyebrows knit together.

“Is that not his name?” she wondered. Had he used a fake name all this time?

“I knew him by another name.” Another vague answer, “he was a…friend, once.” A blush rises to his tan face, “then more, then…something else.”

“Something else?” He wanted to be more honest with her, but he was still frustratingly unclear.

“Something that I had to get away from,” Asra is somber for a moment before laughing bitterly. “Who is Julian to me…who is he to anyone?” He looks past his apprentice’s shoulder to the start behind her. “Julian is whoever he needs to be to get what he wants.” Armyah’s heart drops. She should have known that he was lying to her all along, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. “Why do you ask?”

“We’ve crossed paths a few time,” she answered carefully, “he’s asked about you.” Asra sneered and rolled his eyes.

“To think he would come for me after all that…” he shook his head, “I’m done talking about him. He’s a hack physician with a lot to learn and, until he does, nothing good will come of him.” With a deep sigh, he clears the heavy mood with a smile. Armyah knew there was some animosity between her teacher and the doctor, but she hadn’t expected it to be this bad. “So that’s what you wanted to know? That wasn’t so bad.” She looked away, “or…is there, perhaps, something else on your mind?” He knew her too well. His twinkling eyes searched hers with wordless depth. She remembered the carving of her name on the willow tree.

“Who am I to you?” Arsa’s soft violet eyes go wide and lips part. For a moment, he looked confused, almost hurt. Sighing, he folded his hands in his lap and leaned forward to look his apprentice square in the face.

“You’ve helped me grow,” he breathed, “I’ve learned so much from you.” She didn’t think that was the whole truth, “I wish I could tell you so much.” He looked pained, desperate for her to remember something, anything.

“Is it something to do with before?” she whispered, “When I lost my memory?” He doesn’t answer. “Did you carve my name into the tree?” Asra’s eyes widen in fear, he hadn’t expected her to find it. He almost forgot about it himself.

“You should get some rest…” his voice cracks as he looks down at his feet. Before Armyah could respond, the water ripples around his image until it disappears. ‘So much for being more open…’ she sighed and looked to the lavender serpent who is watching from her shoulder.

“Come one, Faust,” it’s hard not to smile at the ruby-eyed snake, “We’ll see him again soon.” With a shake of her head, the magician gathered the snake into her arms and headed back inside the palace. What was he keeping from her? Why couldn’t he tell her? Frustrated, she tried to shake the thoughts from her head, but she stops dead in her tracks. No, it couldn’t be…she had known Asra for three years. Still, she was missing over 20 years of memories. Maybe he isn’t who he says he is. Perhaps he used her amnesia to manipulate her into thinking he was a completely different person than who he was before. Armyah’s blood runs cold as she remembered Julian’s words that first night in the shop.

“That creature is far more dangerous than you know…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Tell me how I’m doing! tumblr.com/polynymph


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Mentions of blood and injury, this is where the "steamy bits" come in

Armyah woke up the next morning with a start, her blissful sleep interrupted by Portia flinging open the curtains and flooding the guest chamber with bright sunlight. The magician threw a tasseled pillow at her friend, who caught it mid-air, laughing all the while. She shuffled after the servant to the dining room where she was seated in her usual spot across from the portrait. The room was bustling with activity, but she was alone at the table waiting to be served. Strange…the Countess was normally already seated and nursing a mug of coffee by the time Armyah arrived, but she was no where to be found.

“Her ladyship won’t be down for breakfast today,” Portia explained, noticing the fortune-tellers glance to the empty chair at the head of the table, “headaches.” Armyah nodded, understandingly; the Countess suffered from frequent, debilitating headaches. Breakfast was a savory crepe filled with vegetables and a delicious cream sauce. The magician devoured the dish in seconds, “so what’s on your agenda today?” Portia asked.

“I don’t know…” Armyah shrugged, wiping her mouth on her sleeve, “I was thinking of taking another look at that desk in the library.” The servant started to grimace, but caught herself quickly.

“Oh…yes, for the investigation,” she said evenly, “I’ll open the door for you.” She didn’t wait for the magician, she just turned on her heel and exited the dining room. Armyah darted after her in an effort to catch up with her friend. She knew Portia’s feeling about the doctor and the investigation, but she still had a job to do. The fortune-teller, herself, was conflicted. Julian seemed nice and she wanted to believe him to be anyone else but an alleged murder, but Asra told her he wasn’t to be trusted. At the same time, Julian said that Asra shouldn’t be trusted either. She knew her teacher for three years, but what if he was a different person then and he was using her memory loss to his advantage? However, why should she believe Julian? She had only just met him and, at the time, he broke into her shop. That, and Asra had eluded to the fact that Julian might not even be his real name. Armyah’s debate within herself was broken by the mechanical sound of the library door folding in on itself. The magician thanked her friend and padded across the library to the abandoned desk in the alcove. “I’ll be around if you need me,” Portia offered, halfheartedly as she closed the door behind her. Armyah looked down at the desk covered in scrolls, folios, and books. This was going to take a while. “Well…” she thought, “better get started.”

A flock of birds crying out from above the window jolted the magician awake. Blinking tiredly, it took her a minute to realize she had fallen asleep slumped over the desk in the library, books and papers scattered around her; a small puddle of drool left where her mouth was. Wiping the trail of spit from her cheek, she surveyed the mess in front of her. Nothing. No extra traces of Julian, no information to hint at where he’d gone or what really happened.

“Oh come on!” a voice came through the open window to the garden, “I really need to get in there!” It sounded like Portia. It seemed like she was arguing with someone, but she couldn’t quite hear the other party involved. Armyah stood slowly, stretching the sleep from her limbs and made her way to the gardens. “Please? You’re really trying my patience here!” She followed Portia voice through the trees and foliage.

“HOW DARE YOU!” a shrill voice shrieked, “DON’T YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!” She must have been getting close because their argument was getting louder, but the greenery was still blocking her view.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Portia huffed, “I swear to the Gods above that if you don’t move I’ll have roast cockatoo for dinner!” Ducking under gnarled branches, Armyah emerged into a small clearing. Settled squat in the middle of the copse is a squished, cozy looking cottage surrounded by an overflowing garden. “That’s it! Pepi, honey, get ‘em!” A seal point cat with a pudgy face and round eyes hopped on the red-head’s shoulder and began batting at a pure white cockatoo. The bird was pacing on the roof of a small work shed, shrieking and nipping at Portia as she tried to enter. A particularly well-aimed swipe from the cat dislodged the cockatoo from its perch, sending it flying. It clipped Portia’s head with its wing in its escape, muttering in anger at its undignified treatment.

“They’ll never forget me!” the bird squawked, “They’ll never survive without me!” Portia shook her fist after it.

“Ooooh, that awful bird!” she stamped her foot, “He makes me so mad, Pepi!” The cat seemed to meow in agreement. Then, the servant saw her friend from the corner of her eye and shifted in embarrassment. “Armyah! Ummm…fancy seeing you here.” She smoothed her apron and quickly recovered, smiling at the magician. “I’m surprised you managed to find this place,” she chuckled, “It’s a little off the beaten path.”

“I just followed the yelling,” the fortune-teller laughed with her. She looked around, drinking in the gorgeous, rustic scenery, “Where are we, by the way?” Portia’s eyes widened and jaw dropped in shock.

“Oh! How rude of me!” she cleared her throat and spread an arm out to show off the quaint cottage. “Welcome to Casa de Porta!” her cheesy grin stretched from ear to ear. “My own little oasis on the palace grounds. Just watch out for the graspgourds,” she winked, “they’re feisty today.” As she said it, a curious vine wrapped itself around her ankle, but she swiftly kicked it away. “Come on take a seat,” Portia gestured to a bench carved out of a large log resting against the outside of the cottage, “it must have been a walk to get here, huh?” The magician picked her way carefully through the overgrown garden and fantastic plants she had never seen before. Portia gave her a wry smile as she picked up a nearby rake. “You don’t mind me working a little while we talk, do you? I’ve got a lot of work in the garden today.”

“Not at all,” Armyah said as she sat down on the hard bend, “do you need any help?” Portia shook her head. Probably for the best, Armyah was useless when it came to plants and gardening. Once she was settled and watching her friend work, she realized she had a question that was burning in the back of her mind. She was never able to ask the servant before because they weren’t alone. “So…” she hesitated, unsure how to ask. She thought it best to just rip off the bandage, “Julian’s your brother?” If she wasn’t sure before, she was now. The naked shock and hurt on Portia’s face was all the confirmation she needed.

“Yeah…” Portia whispered, eyes downcast, “sorry about that scene outside your shop yesterday.” She fidgeted with the fabric of her shirt, “I was just…surprised to see him there.” Armyah chuckled halfheartedly, trying to lighten the mood.

“I was too.” The servant smiled back, feeling a bit more comfortable about the tender topic.

“He’s got a real flair for the dramatic,” she mused, “I’m glad to see that hasn’t changed.” She sounded melancholy, like she hadn’t even heard from him in years.

“You didn’t know he was here?” the magician asked. Portia shook her head, tears prickling behind her blue eyes.

“Not until I saw him yesterday,” she sighed before stiffening angrily, “what he thinks he’s doing here…” She took a few breaths, but her fists didn’t unclench even a bit. “I’m sorry I didn’t smack him a bit harder for the trouble.” She tried to look mad, but Armyah could tell she was worried for her kin. The mood didn’t stay heavy for though, though. Portia waved it away and squared her shoulders, giving her friend a determined smile. “I didn’t know you two knew each other,” she winked, causing the magician to blush at the implication, “that happen before or after milady hired you?”

“He actually broke into the shop shortly after the Countess left the night before I came here.” She could still see the glassy eyes of the doctor’s mask, piercing through to her core.

“That sure sounds like my brother,” the servant laughed heartily. Her laugh was always contagious, Armyah couldn’t help but join in. After a few moments of shared laughter, Portia’s grew more somber. “Why didn’t you tell milady?” The magician felt as if she could tell her friend anything without consequence.

“I didn’t know enough yet…” she looked down to her hands folded on her lap, “I didn’t want to condemn a man on incomplete information.” She glanced up at the woman across from her and gave a shuttered sigh, “if it’s my word that knots the hangman’s noose…” The very thought made her stomach flip in uncertainty. “How can I send a man to death before I’ve investigated his innocence?”

“You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that, Armyah,” Portia smiled despite the tears in her eyes, “I don’t really know what mess Ilya’s gotten himself into, but…” There was that name she called him again, “If he has you in his corner, I get the feeling everything will work out alright in the end.” Armyah didn’t have the heart to tell her friend that she hadn’t decided whose “corner” she was in. Portia just looked so happy.

“What’s that you keep calling him?” the magician asked, “is that his real name?” She remembered Asra said he knew the doctor by another name.

“Ilya?” Portia’s head cocked to the side, “oh, that’s just a nickname. His full name is Ilyushka.” The name was a Nevivese, but neither sibling had an accent. Armyah wondered why he changed his name and why “Julian”? “It’s getting late,” Portia said looking to the sky, it was well past noon, “you should probably head back so your not navigating the garden in the dark.” The fortune-teller nodded in agreement and hugged her friend goodbye.

“Thanks, Portia,” she squeezed, “for everything.” She had been Armyah’s only saving grace in this whole ordeal. Portia was there when she needed a friend the most.

“Of course!” she pulled away and clapped Armyah on the back, “that’s what I’m here for, you know: Pep talks and expert gardening skills!” With the sun at her back, Armyah turned from Portia’s garden, head swirling with thoughts of Julian and his predicament. Uncertainty aside, she didn’t want to see him hanged. There was something about the whole thing that left a bad taste in her mouth. Maybe if she could just ask him some questions? What’s keeping him from lying to her? ‘Julian is whoever he needs to be to get what he wants’ Asra’s words echoed in her skull, but she shook them away. Strangely enough, she felt more at ease after speaking with Portia. The trials ahead of her seemed less insurmountable. More importantly, she felt less lonely now. Wandering aimlessly in the ancient foliage, Armyah realized she wasn’t paying attention to wear she was going while lost in thought and she wasn’t entirely sure where she was. All she knew was that the farther she got from Portia’s cottage, the darker the sky above her grew. Dread growing in the pit of her stomach, she trudged onward. Out of the brush, the palace’s soaring spires emerged from the tops of the trees and the rest of the gleaming building soon followed. Thick foliage opened up to rolling fields, cut across by a nearby brook that winds through the grass. At first, her eyes pass over it without a second thought, before the color registers and shakes her to the core. Red. Crimson stained the slow-moving stream, seeping steadily into the banks. Armyah took a deep breath in, smelling the water spray. It was coppery, metallic smelling. With trepidation, her eyes followed the flow upstream to the stonework of the palace. It was seeping out through a forgotten corner, but what was it? Blood? Poison? Suppose it would be easy to miss…the brook was small, tucked away on a side of the palace she assumed was rarely patrolled. Glancing sidelong to where the water was flowing, her breath caught in her throat. The trees at the edge of the bank were rotten and decaying. It seemed as if all color was drained from them. Fear trumped by curiosity, the magician swallowed thickly and followed the stream to its end.

Soon, rolling fields were replaced with carved stone; an aqueduct. One of the many flowing from the palace to all corners of the city, designed to provide water for its many denizens. Armyah stepped onto the highest stone of the unconventional path. From this point, she could see all of Vesuvia. The South End to Ash Beach, sprawling, chaotic, and vibrant. Swirls of smoke leave chimneys to dance in the air, twining together like a tryst between lovers. The polished brass of the temple bell, even the Lazaret towered sullenly across the bay. The magician’s awe-struck thoughts were broken by a loud ‘caw’. A raven. A strangely familiar raven was circling overhead. Armyah hopped down from the rock, agile as a cat, and padded along the bridge as the bird swooped lower toward her. Landing with a thud, the raven perched itself onto her shoulder, tilting its head as if it recognized her as well.

“Hello,” the magician greeted with a smile. The raven opened its mouth as if to scream, but it simply nibbled on the neckline of her shirt instead. “Hey, cut it out,” she chuckled shooing the bird away. It stopped, but it didn’t move. In fact, all its feathers were ruffled as if it was high alert. A distant crash startled the raven into flight and Armyah was alone once more. The aqueduct lowered and joined with another waterline, both headed deeper into the city. By this time, she was able to see buildings all around her; the first sign of urban life as she reached the outskirts of the city. The water wasn’t as pigmented as it was closer to the palace, but it was still tinged red. There was no doubt in the fortune-teller’s mind…whatever was coming out of the palace was contaminating the city’s water supply.

“Armyah?” a voice caused the magician to jump. She whipped her head around and saw a figure slowly emerge from the shadows into the dim light of the city lantern. Julian…she shouldn’t be surprised. After all, he seemed to be everywhere she was lately. He stood at the edge of the aqueduct beside her, dark silhouette framed by the light of the moon. Behind him, the city towered like a behemoth. A disorderly display of buildings stacked on top of each other. He was holding a mask, the same mask he was wearing the first night he broke in. He turned it slowly in his hands, like he was contemplating what to do with it. “Fancy seeing you here, hm?” he laughed, but he wasn’t smiling. His stormy eyes never left the ruby glass eyes of the mask. “Out for a night’s walk?” He sighed, dropping his arms to his sides and gazing forlornly into the reservoir below them. The red of his coat reflected and refracted in the water, splashes of crimson danced against each other. “Me?” he continued without a reply from the magician, “I was just thinking…funny, fickle thing, life is…isn’t it?” He seemed depressed, defeated. What was he doing all the way over to the edge of the city? “Isn’t it a miracle?” he mused, “they went and figured it out. Or outlasted it. Wonder how they did it?” She didn’t know what he was talking about or if he was even talking to her. “It’s no matter…Life finds a way in the end, doesn’t it?” He holds the mask in front of him once again, “the plague is over. Who needs a plague doctor if there’s no plague? It’s like…a Count with no city! Or a barkeep with no drinks!”

“A magician with no magic?” Armyah offered with a sympathetic smile, wrapping her arms across her middle. He was having an existential crisis…his sister did say the doctor had a knack for the dramatic.

“Exactly!” he exclaimed. After a moment, he flourished his arm with the mask in it. “So here I am,” he announced to the only other person in the area, “Throwing away the last piece of a past I can’t reclaim.” He ran long, slender fingers down the curve of the beak, somber once again, “Pity, isn’t it? Ah, well…” Slowly, Julian extended his arms over the sanguine water and dropped the mask. Pale, slithering shapes moved to swarm around it the moment it broke the water’s surface. He stared off after it mournfully.

“…Julian-” Armyah started to comfort the man, but was cut off by the raven from before screeching, nearly flying into the pair in its frenzy. In a moment of panic, the doctor reached out instinctively to grab the magician’s hand.

“Guards afoot, Armyah!” he grinned mischievously, his signature smile, “Look lively, we’d best make tracks.” He lead her further down the aqueduct to reach the street. Once they were close, Julian turned to see if she was keeping up well enough. She was, until she slipped on the wet stone and tumbled backward. Julian’s grip didn’t hold and her arm slipped through his gloved hand as she fell into the reservoir below. Darkness engulfed her as she was swallowed up by the deep waters. The impact knock what little breath she had away. Armyah struggled against the freezing waters, kicking frantically and reaching to the surface. As the magician thrashed, something moved against her; slippery and sleek. Finally, her hand breaks through to the cold, night air and she felt a leather-clad hand grip her and tug. Blinding pain, stabbing and stinging at her side caused her to cry out underwater. She would have reached for the source of the pain, but the vice like grip tugged her out of the water and onto wet cobblestone, the undulating creature still attached. Coughing, sputtering, and fighting to stay conscious, Armyah looked down. A vampire eel. Her blood flowing through its translucent innards as it feasted. “On the count of three,” Julian prompted, but she could barely hear him through her pulse pounding in her ears, “One…two-” The doctor gripped the creature behind the head, forcing it to release its leech-like mouth from the magician’s torso, and tossed it back into the water. “Three!” He reached down and circled her arm around his neck, letting her use him as support. “Easy now…I’ve got you.” Armyah was still gasping for air and stumbling on the wet rocks as Julian half-dragged her down the street. Numbly, she watched her own blood stain the path behind them. “Can you stand?” he asked, pausing in the shadow of a tall apartment building to peer down at the injured woman. She was shaking and tremendously dizzy, she gripped his arm for dear life, but struggled as she grew weaker with blood loss. Her vision was blurry, but she could still see a smear of vibrant red hair. “Right,” he chastised himself, “foolish question.”

Heaving her up, he dragged her dead weight up the street. Ahead, Julian saw a narrow, deserted alley and decided to cut their losses. If he didn’t do anything soon, the young magician might not make it. The doctor hauled her over his shoulder with a surge of adrenaline and made a B-line for the alleyway. Once shrouded, he gently laid her down on the cobblestone, “let me see that bite…” Her head bobbed ambiguously, vision fading and delirious with pain. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he muttered as her slid her torn shirt up to reveal her steadily oozing wound. “Damn, the bleeding won’t stop,” he cursed. Julian drew back with a look of displeasure and peeled off his gloves. The sensation of his ice-cold palm on her waist sent a violent shiver that quaked Armyah’s whole body. “Hold still,” he whispered tenderly, “this will only take a minute or two.” In an effort to stay conscious, she focused on her breathing; in and out…in and out. A hand slipped under her head to cradle her skull. It had been years since he had used the curse. ‘Desperate times called for unconventional measures’ he winced at the twinge behind his eye as he heard a voice in his head. Shaking the sensation away to concentrate on the task at hand, he inhaled deeply and felt freezing water rush through his veins as his mark began to glow bright, illuminating the magician’s pained expression. A brief wave of déjà vu washed over the doctor before her features relaxed when the realization that she wasn’t in pain anymore hit. Blinking in her confusion, she reached down to where her wound was to find the flesh fused together like it was never pierced. Not even a scar. Her dark eyebrows knit together and glance up at the doctor.

“Why are you helping me?” Julian blinked owlishly at the girl. She had almost died and this is what she was asking him?

“Shouldn’t I?” he countered, “You’re injured. Surely you don’t think I’ll let you bleed out on the street.” He chuckled despite himself, “now, are you feeling any better?” She nodded carefully, as if she was keeping herself at a distance. “You’re lucky…believe it or not. Those were vampire eels, one bite can bleed a man dry in minutes.” The doctor scoffed bitterly and looked up the dark alley, “the Count was fond of such pets.” As he leaned away, Armyah could see the circular mark etched under the skin of his throat. The design looked vaguely familiar. A shadow passed over his countenance as he caught her staring. “Do you recognize your master’s handiwork?” She had never seen Asra do that type of magic before, she didn’t even know he was capable of doing something like that. Julian winced and his hand flew to his side. The magician’s breath caught as she noticed the murderer’s brand, but her attention was stolen by the fresh blood blossoming underneath his clothing. “This was a parting gift to me…” he ground through clenched teeth, “…a curse.” His chest heaved in pained breaths, the hand not on the wound raked through curly auburn hair. “I’m able to take away bodily wounds, as you can see. And in return, I get the pleasure of experiencing them for myself.” Armyah swallowed thickly at the blood now flowing freely down his torso. A flash of guilt fell over her; he took her injury and now he was feeling. He barely knew her. She stood so she could offer a hand to the doctor to help him up as well.

“Does it hurt?” she asked. She cursed to herself at the stupid question. ‘Of course it hurts’ the magician chastised herself, ‘look at his face!’ Julian took her hand and mustered the strength to stand. He swayed forward slightly so she quickly moved to steady him by the shoulders.

“It won’t last,” he seethed, “it never does. Just a curse from a witch who fears commitment.” Realizing himself he looked to the young woman apologetically, “no offense…” Armyah rolled her eyes at the dig to her teacher, deciding to ignore it. “Then again, I’ve never been bitten by a vampire eel,” he mused, “this might be interesting.” Using the magician as a crutch just as she had earlier, he hobbled up the alley. The awkward silence filled the air between them, neither brave enough to brake it.

“Thank you…” Armyah muttered after a few moments, not bothering to meet the doctor’s eye. The tips of his ears grew red hot and he coughed uncomfortably.

“Don’t ah…don’t mention it,” he stammered, “that is, well…circumstances being as they were…” He looked anywhere and everywhere than the fortune-teller’s direction, “I’m just…glad your alright.” She stiffened, unsure how to respond. All she knew is that her face was probably as red as the water in the reservoir. Then, voices alerted the pair to palace guards doing rounds of the outer walls. Julian pulled them into a small crevice between buildings, so small they could barely fit. Instinctively, he pulled Armyah close to his chest, shielding her from view with his large coat. They could hear the guard rush by, holding their breath as they pray eyes slide over them without a second thought. In the close proximity, Armyah could see the pain plastered on the doctor’s face. His eyes were fixed behind her, but as if he could sense her gaze, they move to hers. They only stare, pulses quickening as heat of embarrassment flooded to their faces. His stormy eye flickered from her chocolate eyes to her lips and back again. “…Armyah-” Whatever he was about to say was swallowed by a clatter from the alleyway’s entrance, “not the time. Let’s go!” He took her hand once again and tugged her out of the back street, and breaking in to a run. They city passed the two in a blur as they escaped, weaving around buildings with ease. Julian obviously knew the city well, much better than Armyah did. They were moving so fast, she almost missed a gated yard nestled between two apartment buildings.

Armyah pulled hard on the doctor’s arm, leading him toward the hiding spot. A thick padlock set in the rusted iron gate, Julian hoisted the magician up to the top so she could use the curled metal as holds to pull herself over. Once she was safely on the other side, he scrambled up and over himself and landed beside her on light feet. They were shrouded by heavy foliage not a moment too soon, heavy footfalls pounded past the hidden garden as the pair caught their breath. Once all was silent once again, the fugitive and his partner in crime looked at each other. After a minute, Julian burst out in laughter. Armyah had no idea why, but she couldn’t help but smile before taking in their surroundings. She felt as if they were transported to another realm. The garden was so serene and unlike anything she had ever seen, not even at the palace. It looked as if it had been abandoned for years; the plants left to fend for themselves. Ivy covered what once must have been beautiful, obscuring marble faces and savage stone beasts. She padded cautiously forward under a dilapidated archway and around roots that have overtaken the cracked stone floor and crumbling fountain.

“Look at this place!” Julian exclaimed in astonishment, pulling on his leather gloves, “Ha! That was some quick thinking on your part, Armyah.” Thick eyebrows waggled after the magician, “Looks like you’ve got a knack for discovering hidden beauty.” His face fell when he saw she wasn’t paying attention and still looking around in wonder at the scenery around them. “I wonder how many parts of the city have fallen to neglect like this, hm?” Julian made his way carefully over the wild vines to one of the grotesque statues, “Ahh, and look at this brute!” he addressed the marble with a suggestive grin, “Hello there, handsome.” The doctor wrapped around the bull-like character’s muscular shoulders, “Dangerous looking creature, isn’t it?” She still wasn’t fully listening to him, she was looking up at a statue of two lovers in a scandalous embrace.

“Danger makes things exciting,” she mumbled. Realizing what she said and what it was in response to, her face flushed crimson. Unthinking, she looked over to where Julian was standing, arm still on the bull, that roguish grin spread across his face. Armyah quickly looked from the doctor to the statue he was leaning on. Something about its stone face was unsettling. Almost like it was regarding her.

“Ooooh?” he tittered, “I shouldn’t be surprised, Armyah. It seems like you’re full of hidden depths. Do you really mean that?” He push off the sculpture and circled around the magician, as a predator would his prey, “Throwing your lot in with the likes of me? Do you know what you’re getting in to?” She knew he was baiting her so she thought better of answering. However, she had a feeling there was something more in his question.

“I’m not throwing anything in with anyone,” she huffed defensively. He cocked an eyebrow and stepped toward her, causing her to step backward away from him.

“Oh?” he chuckled, “so you’re not in this garden with me? Hiding from the guards?” He backed her into a corner and outstretched his arm to rest on the wall beside her head, reminiscent of the first night he broke in. He leaned in close until she could feel his breath on her ear. “Hold still…” He slowly reached up to her face. She was ready to make a mad dash under his arm until he plucked something off her shoulder and held it up to her. A luminous blue flower glows bright between them, vivid blue in the dark. Star shaped petals curled in to close as he touched it. Julian quirked his lip and twirled it in his fingers. Armyah reached out to take it from him, but he pulled in back just slightly to stop her. “Ah, ah, ah,” he warned, “Careful, Armyah. There’s poison in these petals.” The magician look curiously at the fragile, unfamiliar bloom.

“What is that?” she asked, reaching for it once again, only to have it pulled just out of reach.

“Deadly Starstrand,” he explained, glancing at the beautiful flower, “A single drop of poison distilled from this flower could kill a babe in its crib. It’s killed tyrants and kings, innocent and guilty.” The doctor held it upside down precariously like he was threatening to drop it, “It could topple entire empires with a careless hand.” Armyah snatched it out of his hand while he was distracted, leaving him to blink at his empty hand. He turned back to the young woman and found the flower in her hand held under nose as she sniffed deeply. There was something acrid to it, an underlying note of iron and sickness that stung her sinuses.

“You said the poison has to be distilled,” she said, not taking her eyes off the glowing blossom, “so it’s harmless to the touch.” He watched the magician eagerly as she ran a finger over the petals so softly, like she it might shatter if she isn’t careful.

“Well, I wouldn’t eat it if I were you,” he chuckled, “but you’re right. It probably wouldn’t kill you like this.” He plucked the flower from her hand and tucked it behind her ear, his touch lingering for a moment before dropping it to her shoulder. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but couldn’t muster up the courage to say it.

“Does that bite still hurt?” Armyah asked, breaking the silence. She shouldn’t be comfortable with how close he is, but she can’t bring herself to pull away.

“Are you worried about me, Armyah?” He breathed a laugh as he tucked her curly dark hair behind the ear without the flower. “You needn’t be. I’m perfectly alright, see?” He steps back and spread his arms out wide, nearly knocking the bull-like statue. Cursing, he quickly moves to steady it, “I, uh…” he coughed into his fist, embarrassed, “Reflexes notwithstanding.” Julian recomposed himself, straightening his uniform. “Really, it’s fine,” he waved a hand nonchalantly, “I feel fine, fantastic even!” She eyed the doctor incredulously. “After all,” he smiled that signature, mischievous grin of his, “here I am, in a beautiful garden with a beautiful woman.” He cocked an implicative eyebrow at the magician, “who wouldn’t be delighted by such wonderful company?” He noticed the magician’s mournful gaze to her feet and softened his expression. Julian reached out to take her hand into one of his and grazed a gloved-thumb over her knuckles. The other hand tilted her chin upward to meet his eye, “what’s wrong, Armyah?”

“It’s just…” she sighed, defeated, “I know I thanked you, but it doesn’t feel like enough.” Her chocolate eyes flickered to the blood stain on his waistcoat. “You got hurt because of me.” The doctor couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Trust me,” he squeezed her hands reassuringly “Better I hurt in your stead.” He leaned in, lips inches from hers, breath mingling together. A cascade of warmth spreads through her whole body and all she could think about is the sliver of space between them. For a moment, she thought that he might kiss her. She wasn’t entirely sure, but she just might let him. “Besides,” he winked teasingly “you’re much more fragile than I.” Armyah smiled, rolling her eyes and playfully pushing the doctor away by his chest. Suddenly, the sound of loud footsteps quickly approaching made the two jump a foot. The pair leaped into action, Julian tugging on Armyah’s arm and pulling her out onto the street once more. He lead her deeper into the city and to more questionable areas, taking wild turns to evade their pursuers. He slowed down at a rundown residence at the outskirts of the district, stepping carefully around the few chickens petering around the yard. “In we go, Armyah,” he didn’t wait for her to respond before clamoring through an open window and pulling the magician in after him.

The hut is humid on the inside. Julian ducked under a row of brass bells hanging from the rafters, similarly to those at the Rowdy Raven, just close enough to make them hum. His arm lingered on the magician’s waist as he surveyed the room after steadying her from their entrance through the small window. The small house was wide, the ceiling low causing the doctor’s hair to brush it and shower his shoulders with dirt.

“Mazelinka?” Julian called out to the empty room, “sorry to drop in like his.” There was no answer, he coughed nervously into his fist, “you know…the guards…Mazelinka?” When there was still no reply he shrugged off his large coat and hung it on the back of a chair to dry. “Huh, I don’t think she’s home.” Armyah look in the small, stuffy home. It was quaint, reminded her of of the shop when Asra first bought it. Wait a minute…

“Did we just break in,” she narrowed her eyes at the doctor. Maybe she was throwing her lot in after all. Julian rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“I, um…” his eye wandered everywhere but her own, “…maybe?” She sighed in frustration, pinching the bridge of her nose. It’s not like they had many options.

“Well, desperate times call for unconventional measures,” she reasoned. He stiffened at the familiar phrase, maybe she got it from Asra and that’s where he heard it? Or possibly a coincidence?

“In any case, she seems to be out,” he said, regaining his composure, “lucky for us; she doesn’t like when I come through the window.” Eye widening in realization, he turned on Armyah. He looked past her to the small planter below the window they had just crawled through. Curly tendrils of yellow flowers sprouted raggedly from the soil. Their petals furled and unfurled as if they were gasping for breath. “Damn!” he cursed, “we stepped on the Dragon’s Breath. I’m in for an earful.” He wipes a hand down his face as the door began to ratter, a grunt from the outside as it’s shaken free from the crooked frame.

“Ilya!” a haggered voice croaked, “did you come through the window again, you slippery boy?” A small figure, hunched over in old age, shuffled through the groaning doorway swathed in a thick blue shawl and ragged coat. Julian straightened too quickly, striking his head against the ceiling with a wince. Regardless, the doctor swept down to offer his arm to the small woman and dipped for a kiss on the cheek.”

“Ah Mazelinka,” he seemed to be trying to distract her from the magician behind him, “aren’t you a sight for the sore eye! Love the shawl, is it new?” She rolled her eyes and rested her hands on her wide hips.

“You know it isn’t,” she wagged a wooden spoon at him, “I though you might be around when I saw the guards sniffing-” The old woman’s piecing eyes softened as they fell on the young woman partially hidden by the lanky doctor. She lean aside to see her, blinking up at her through wisps of wiry hair. The girl shifted her weight from one foot to the other under Mazelinka’s gaze. She was a pretty, young thing and seemed to be shy. “Who do we have here?”

“This is Armyah, she’s a…,” Julian stumbled on what to call her. He couldn’t exactly refer to her as the girl who’s house he broke into and now they just keep bumping into each other. It doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue “…a new friend of mine.” Their host didn’t seem to buy it anyway.

“A new friend, huh?” she asked incredulously before regarding the fortune-teller with hint of a smile, “make yourself comfortable, Armyah.” She moved through the kitchen and rummage through a few cabinets until she noticed the ruined flowers in the window box.

“I did that!” Julian exclaimed quickly, “I take full responsibility for that. I wasn’t thinking and I-”

“Don’t fit through the door, I know,” Mazelinka finished for him, “Fetch me the round pot for me, will you?” Julian nodded and moved to a cupboard set in the dirt wall beside where Armyah was standing. There was a sway in his step, and when their eyes met his smile was weary. Maybe that bite he took from her took more out of him than he originally thought. His eye lingered strangely, almost dazed.

“You okay?” she asked so only he could hear. She watched him as he reached past her and dragged a well-used cauldron from the cupboard.

“I’m fine, why?” he looked sidelong at her, “More importantly, how are you, my dear?” Her nose crinkled in annoyance at the nickname. Boots clicking on the hard floor, he swaggered over to the fire Mazelinka had started and dropped the pot over it. He turn back to the magician, a spark of interest in his hazy eye. “Do you feel strange in any way? Experiencing any tingling? Some people have described a tingling sensation after.”

“After what?” their host piped up. Julian winced, like he forgot they weren’t alone, “what have you gone and done to yourself this time?” The doctor gazed tenderly at Armyah.

“Nothing I wouldn’t do again.” He sounded sincere, but that didn’t stop the blush from rising to her cheeks. She glanced down to her feet, unable to keep his gaze. She couldn’t help but smile. Mazelinka decided to drop it, she knew she’d never get through to the stubborn boy. She rolled a purple herb between her thumb and fingers.

“Ech, worrywort’s gone stale,” she tsked, “Gotta get more in the garden. Pardon me, Armyah” She grabs a rusty knife and shuffled out the door. The moment the door closed behind her Julian slumped against the counter, one hand holding his weight and the other tangled in his curly tresses.

“Huh, who would’ve thought that a bite like that would take so much out of me…” Realizing what he had said, his eyes flickered up to the magician’s face, “not to belittle our bite, mind you.” When he saw there was no sign of offense on her he relaxed and grinned, “You’re the first to make it, you know.” His gaze was soft in the flickering firelight until a shadow crossed his brow and he looked away. “They’re not aggressive, the eels. And they wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for the Count,” Julian spat bitterly. A chill ran down Armyah’s spine at the reminder of why they were in hiding. He was a wanted man.

“Did you really do it?” she asked with out thinking. His wide eye fixated on the floor as she clasped her hand over her mouth, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I wasn’t thinking. I-” She stammered out an apology, but she noticed he wasn’t upset. In fact, his chest shook with quiet laughter.

“I’m sorry, it’s just…” he shook his head and smiled softly, “I’m always asking myself that same question. It’s much less irritating when you say it.” Sighing, he tilted his head to look up at the ceiling, “Did I do it…” he mused to himself. Finally, he looked to Armyah, “if I told you the truth would you believe me?” She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t even move to nod or shake her head. He repeated the question a few more times. “Did I really kill the Count…what if I told you I don’t remember?” The magician stiffened, was he missing memories too? Was there some correlation between their amnesia?

“Ilya!” they were interrupted, “you’re barely standing on two feet! When is the last time you slept?” Julian grimaced, not really remembering the last time he got a proper night’s sleep.

“Well…I don’t really need sleep the way I used to,” he blushed, wringing his hands like a child being lectured.

“Says who?” she scolded, shaking the same wooden spoon at him, “Your eye is rolling! Curse schurmse!”

“I’m fine, really,” His gaze trailed from Arymah’s feet up to her face as Mazelinka raised a steely brow. “Actually, I haven’t felt this good in a while.” The old woman sighed and tossed a handful of sand into the cauldron while stirring.

“I’ll be very happy for you after you get some rest,” she winked knowingly at the doctor and jerked her head toward the partition leading to the bedroom. “Go on, shoo.” He opened his mouth to argue, but the look in Mazelinka’s eye made him think better of it. “You’ll survive without her,” she tease, making the pair blush. Julian moved toward the curtain, pausing as he passed the magician.

“You’ll have to excuse me, Armyah,” he said with a worn out smile, “you’re in good company.” His fingertips brushed the back of her hand as he walks away from her. She’s not entire sure if it was on purpose or not. He watches after him as he disappears behind the curtain. A heaving sigh billowed beside her,

“He won’t do it, ya know,” the old woman cracked her well-worn knuckles, “he’ll pace around unless someone pins him to the bed.” Her grin bared silver teeth as she tossed the fortune-teller a knowing look. “Go keep an eye on him,” she chuckled, jerking her head toward the partition, “something tells me he’ll listen to you.” Armyah’s ears burned as she padded over to the fabric. Tentatively, she ducks under the curtain to find Julian on the edge of the bed pulling his long boots off, loose undershirt hanging from his broad shoulders. He was beginning to pull off the other one before he noticed the magician standing in the corner with her arms hugging her torso. He flashes a wry smile that gleams in the candlelight.

“Armyah!” he exclaimed with delight, “did you come to tuck me in?” He yawned dramatically and kicked his boot off with a thud. “I won’t last long, I’m afraid,” he scratched the back of his neck with a glove-less hand, her breath caught in her throat at the murder’s brand etched into the back of his hand. “I know when I’m beat. If there’s one thing I know, it’s my own body and healing takes as long as it takes.” He tapped a finger impatiently on his knee, “…whether I like it or not. Isn’t it amazing?” He rolled his eye sarcastically, “stab me in the back and I’ll walk it off, but healing will take everything I’ve got.” They were caught off guard by Mazelinka peeking past the curtain with a steaming bowl.

“Drink,” she ordered the doctor before turning to the young woman, “Armyah, will you be staying the night as well?” The magician didn’t know how to answer, she didn’t want to assume, but she was cut off by Julian sputtering into his bowl and eyeing it wearily.

“Oh, it’s that kind of soup…” he murmured indignantly.

“I won’t let you run yourself into the grave,” the old woman scolded, “you’re still human, Ilya.” Julian muttered something underneath his breath in protest and Mazelinka sighs. She takes the bowl from him and places it in the magician’s hands. “Armyah, be a dear and see that he drinks?” She nods quickly at her host.

“What for?” the tips of his ears turned red, “I’m not even feeling tired anymooooo-” Julian was cut off by a long yawn. Mazelinka patted the fortune-teller on the arm and ducked back into the main room. “She makes that soup when I can’t sleep, bless her…” he breathed a laugh, “even when I’m beyond stress, raving, beating my wings against the walls…I don’t know what she puts in it.” Curious, Armyah sniffed the shimmering golden brew; chamomile, Valerian root, and lemonbalm were the most prominent aromas. Of course…sleep aids. Julian waited obediently, eyeing the bowl in her hands and licking his lips, “and it tastes fantastic.” His eye drifted lazily from her eyes to her lips. 

Armyah knelt in front of the weary man, hiking her hand-made skirt over her knee as her shin rested on the cool wood floor. He looked to her oddly as she moved, not anticipating her next move; she brought the bowl to his lips. He huffed through his nose, his eye was thoughtful as it roamed over the magician’s face. He drained the bowl hungrily and sighed heavily, obviously satisfied. “Ah yeeeesss, very smooth,” he mused, “better than I remember.” Chocolate eyes followed the path of his tongue as it laps up the last remnants of brew from the corners of his mouth. “You know, it takes a bit to kick in…” he brought a hand under her jaw, tilting her head to look at him, “we could stay up and…” Her expression was neutral, unreadable. That same sad, lost look that she had since the first night he saw her. “…Get to know each other?” There was no roguish grin, no mischievous glint in his eye. His fingers tangle through dark curls at the back of her neck and she allows him to lead her lips closer to his. Her pulse starts to quicken as his eye slips closed as their lips meet, moving elegantly and drawing her in further. His taste is smokey and complex and leaves her wanting more. A momentary lapse of reason lets her quickly stand and lean one knee on the bed, standing over him. “Armyah…” he breaths before she deepens the kiss. He told himself the he wanted to stay away, but nothing he did allowed him to keep the magician at a distance. He wanted to drink her spicy essence of cinnamon and clove until he drowned and died a happy man.

“Alright, that’s enough, you two,” a voice cuts through the room. Flushing brighter than ever, the pair slid away from each other to an arms length. Mazelinka threw a sheet over the flustered doctor and turned a twinkling eye on the fortune-teller, “I’ve got a small sleeping space if you want, or…” she jerks her head toward Julian on the bed, “you can get all cozy in with him.” Still blushing, Julian cleared his throat and leaned back as casually as he could. She forgets who he is when she’s with him. Hell, she forgets who she is around him. She tells herself it was a moment of weakness, but she doesn’t fully believe it.

“I’ll…” she hesitates, but it’s for the best, “…I’ll take the other bed.” Julian deflated with a sigh making her wince. She hopes that she didn’t offend him or, Gods forbid, make him think she didn’t want to kiss him. However, she can’t afford anymore lapses in judgment. Before she’s able to explain herself, their host lead her by the arm past the curtain. Armyah spares him a last glance and they smile as their eyes meet.

“Sweet dreams, Armyah,” he calls softly before the curtain falls, obscuring him. Mazelinka claps her knotted hands together.

“I bet you’re wondering where your quarters are, huh?” she chuckled, “You’re right on top of ‘em.” The magician takes a step back as the old woman sweeps the rug from underneath her feet to reveal a rusty trapdoor in the floor. “There you go,” she grunted, heaving the doorpull open, “plenty of space to curl up.” Armyah dropped down into the nest of old blankets and pillows. It was quite comfortable and roomy for a hole in the ground. “Aren’t you adorable in there…” she beamed from above, “I’ll leave it open a crack.” Mazelinka swung the door closed, wedging a flat stone under one corner to leave a sliver of light in the hollow darkness. She moves out of sight and her footfalls passed over the magician’s head. The house is still, she can hear Julian’s muffled voice talking to their host, but she can’t make out what they were saying. Once quiet, Armyah situated herself in the blankets and snuggled in to sleep, the doctor’s heady taste still on her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know how you're liking it so far!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya got some steamy bits and our first flash back!! Enjoy!  
> CW: Mentions of blood, a bit NSFW for steamy stuff in the theater!

The slam of a door rouses Armyah from a restful sleep. The early moonlight pooling from the crack of the partially open trapdoor shined directly in her eyes as she lifted her head from the nest of pillows and blankets. Pushing the doorpull open with a loud creak, the magician crawled out of the hiding hole and padded sleepily across the kitchen, glancing around in the early morning darkness. The door must’ve been Mazelinka leaving for the day. Dawn was just brushing its fingers against the horizon, little slivers of light performing morning stretches. Armyah tread lightly over to the small dining table in the corner and settled down with a yawn, tracing the designs in the wood-grain absentmindedly.

“N-no…please-” a voice came from behind the curtain to the bedroom Julian had occupied that night, “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry-” A loud thud echoed through the house and the magician scrambled to her feet and, without thinking, yanked open the partition to check on the doctor. Said doctor was supine on the floor, gangly legs still on the bed and tangled in the sheets. He lifted his hangdog gaze to the fortune-teller and gave a wry smile, sweat beading from his brow and his face as white as a ghost lily. “Armyah…” he sighed, embarrassed and red-faced, “did I wake you?” He dropped his head back onto the ground and looked up to the ceiling, “I…sorry…I didn’t mean to disturb you.” Armyah spared him a sympathetic smile as she reached out to offer him a hand up. He took it graciously and they both untangled him from the bedsheets. She could feel the tension coiled up in his body from where she stood. He was trembling, not quite meeting her eyes, like he was trying to hide it from her.

“Are you alright?” she asked softly once he was upright and sitting on the bed, “do you want to talk about it?” He slumped as he rested his elbows on his knees. For a minute, she didn’t think he was going to answer.

“Seems silly in the light of day…” he sighed, eye never lifting from her feet, “or, er…dawn. It wasn’t real…” The moment he glanced at her face he knew it was a mistake. Those pitiful doe eyes under her worry-creased eyebrows would be the death of him. He cleared his throat and shook his head, “Why were you out of bed anyway?” She sat down beside him and took his hands in hers.

“You’re shaking,” she ignored his question. He pulled his away and crossed them across his exposed chest.

“What, shaking?” he scoffed, “Nonsense, I’m a doctor! My hands are as sure as death and taxes.” She took a hand once again and brought it closer for her to see. She traced his strong knuckles with the pad of her thumb. She wanted to kiss them, but she thought better of it. She looked at him pointedly when his quaking hand betrayed him. “I told you, it’s nothing,” he argued as she turned his hand over in hers, “It wasn’t real and I have no reason to be upset.” Armyah was still focused on the palm of his hand. When she hadn’t said anything he turned to her, confused. “What are you doing?”

“I’m reading you,” she ran a finger down the crease that curved from index finger to under his little finger; his heart line. “This says you’re in tune with your emotions and you express them very easily.” She grazed her finger down a break in the line, “this says you’ve suffered emotional trauma.” Her eyes flickered to his, which he doesn’t meet. She traces down to his wavy head line, directly underneath the first one, “this says you struggle between your emotional and practical sides. You’re restless.” He pulled his hand away to squint at it as though he were trying to see where it actually said those things. He sighed, defeated before turning to the fortune-teller once again.

“Do you believe in forgiveness?” he asked sullenly. Armyah cocked an eyebrow, whatever he dreamed of must’ve really shaken him. “Do you think even truly heinous things can be forgiven?”

“I do.” She was a firm believer in second chances and learning from mistakes. However, Julian looks like that’s not the answer he wanted to hear.

“If I could just remember…” he said more to himself, “…then I would know…if what I’ve done is something unforgivable.” He hung his head, tears threatening to fall.

“Well…what would you do if it is?” His eye went wide, he hadn’t considered the fact. “If you don’t know, then is it really worth tearing yourself apart over, is it?” she shrugged. He looked ahead defiantly, arms crossed again.

“No, if I can’t make it right then I’ll take whatever punishment I deserve,” he proclaimed, “without question.” He shook his head before flashing a half-hearted smile. “Isn’t this a dour conversation…don’t mind me, Armyah,” he chuckled lightly, “just the sleep deprivation talking.” Julian stretches his long arms over his head, “five cups of coffee and I’ll get the pep back in my step.” The tension hadn’t completely eased from his shoulders, but she didn’t press any further. She moved over to lean against the wall, pulling the doctor with her to lay his head against her chest. “Oh, erm-are you…?” he stammered, flushing crimson, “…is this what we’re doing…? Now?” He doesn’t try to argue or pull away, he just closes his eye as she runs her fingers through his unruly curls. She can feel his muscles shift, loosening if only a fraction.

“Relax…” she whispered, nails gently raking his scalp, “you’re safe here.” He relaxes a bit more and his long legs dangle partly off the foot of the bed. He takes a deep breath and parts his lips to speak again, but before he does Armyah sends a soft wave of magic through her fingers of plushly blankets and warmth. Immediately, he falls into slumber as she had intended. She moved out from under him without fear of waking him and looked at him; softly snoring and finally at peace. She should leave him to rest and go back to the hole, but her legs won’t move. Could she afford to be so selfish? Cursing at herself, she crawls next to him and snuggled up to him and rested her head on his chest. She knew this was a mistake, but she was weak and craved his touch. Instinctively, Julian wrapped a lazy arm around her and pulled her closer. She allowed herself to drift off next to him, a mess of tangled limbs and unspoken worries. However, she couldn’t help but chastise herself, ‘Armyah, you fool’.

Sunlight dappled Armyah’s face as a little bird chirped a cheerful tune, rousing her. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and glanced down to find the bed empty besides her. The only trace of him being the depression in the mattress. The magician gathered herself and jogged over to the curtain, ducking under it to the main house. Julian was by the door, pulling on his coat and fastening his waistcoat, his back to her.

“Julian?” she called out to him suspiciously. Was he about to leave her here? He visibly stiffened at the sound of her voice. The doctor’s heart broke in two as he turned slowly to meet Armyah’s hurt expression, “going somewhere?” He expected her to be angry, but she wasn’t. She was just…sad and somehow that was worse.

“What?” he feigned innocence, “No! I’m not…” He couldn’t lie to her. “Listen, Armyah…we need to talk.” He winced as he said it, nothing good ever comes from that phrase. The magician hugged her arms over her torso like she was trying to fold in on herself and disappear.

“I’m listening,” her voice quivered ever so slightly. The sudden urge to hold her and tell her it will be all right flooded over him, but he stood his ground. It was better this way…or so he told himself.

“Good…good,” he affirmed nervously, “but, er, not here. I’ll take you to the South End market? More places to talk.” He offered his arm to her, but she didn’t take it. It would’ve been easier for her to scream and berate him. He couldn’t stand how upset she looked. “After you, my dear…” he gestured.

Julian led the pair through twisting alleys deeper into his part of town until they emerged into a noisy, crowded market. Makeshift stalls erected along the canal of all shapes and sizes. Neither met the other’s face. Anxiety churned the magician’s stomach like butter. The anticipation was killing her, she wish he would just tell her what he wanted to say. She wanted to run back to the shop and snuggle with Faust until she felt better.

“Armyah…” Julian hesitated, “…about that talk-” He stopped dead in his tracks, “Ah! Wait, I nearly forgot. First things first, Mazelinka left a shopping list for us.” The doctor pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment from his pocket and unfurled it to hand to the fortune-teller. “Just a few ingredients to pick up.” She glanced over the list: pickled tingleberry, charred newt flesh, articulated goosewart. Armyah knew these ingredients. “She uses them for her folk remedies,” he explained with an amused smile, “most effective pep-up soup I’ve ever had and I’ve had a lot of soup.”

“Does Mazelinka practice magic?” Armyah asked, still looking at the list, “These are all spell ingredients.” Julian scoffed at the very notion.

“Pbbfft what? These things?” he coughed a nervous chuckle, “Nonsense, they’re ingredients for medicines. Effective ones too.” She looked oddly at his reaction. Like he was mostly trying to convince himself.

“I mean…we keep some of these ingredients at our shop,” she said carefully, “…our magic shop.” The doctor scowled and looked ahead to the market.

“It’s not magic,” he replied defiantly, “No one chanted nonsense from a fancy, ominous tome. There were no glowing circles and weird runes.” He looked distinctly uncomfortable with the prospect of Mazelinka casting magic.

“Is that what you think magic is?” Julian grimaced as if he just remembered who he was talking to. It was almost like he forgot Armyah was a magician.

“I-errrr…of course not,” he blushed, “it’s just…I don’t understand it.” He sighed, defeated, “but these remedies I understand. You mix things together, chop them up, and they work.” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, “or they don’t and you try something different.”

“Well, some magic is like that too,” Armyah chuckled, “it’s not all dancing naked under a full moon and sacrificing the blood of virgins.” The young magician laughed, the look on Julian’s face was priceless. “I’m kidding!” she slaps his shoulder playfully.

“You really had me going,” he smiled, relieved. The joke might have been at his expense, but it was worth it to hear her laugh. They shared a laugh for a good minute until it died down and he looked to her sullenly, “Armyah…about that talk-” Immediately, her smile fell and her gaze dropped to her feet. She almost forgot about the “talk” they were supposed to have.

“Jules, is that you?” a raspy voice called out, “Ain’t seen you in the city fer years, y’old dog! What’re you doin’ here, eh?” An older woman behind a stall was waving the doctor over. An excited smile spread out over Julian’s face.

“Tilde! Good to see you!” He cried out as he swaggered over to greet his old acquaintance, “How’s the wife? Still having those headaches?” The woman scoffed and waved her hand vaguely as she shoulders her leech bag.

“She’s doin’ fine,” she rattled, “Still talkin’ ‘bout moving to Prakra, but I says ‘what’re we gonna do that for, they don’t got a leech market there…” Julian, feigning interest, waved a goodbye as he takes Armyah’s hand and pulls her further in the crowd. Merchants and shoppers alike continue to call out to him as they passed. As the nodded to each person, acknowledging them, he tried to make as much eye contact with the magician as he could.

“So, listen…” Another nod and wave, “we need to-”

“Watch it! Comin’ through!” a tiny urchin barrels between the pair, chasing after a rather ragged looking dog down the street. As they push by, they knock into Arymah and catches her off balance. Time seemed to slow as she fell backward into a broad chest, causing both her and Julian to stumble as he caught her. He hit the ground with a grunt, arms wrapped around her tight to break her fall.

“Armyah!” the doctor shouts, panicked, “are you alrig-” Eye wide, he rolls them both and blocks her from the collapsing fruit cart beside them. “Are you alright?” he asked after the dust cleared, looking her over for any injuries, “Nothing hit you, did it?” He pulled the stunned magician to her feet and dusted her shoulders as she patted down her skirt, fretting over her like a mother hen. “Well…” he sighs, looking at the broken cart and scattered fruit, “looks like I’m buying a fruit stand today.” Julian rummaged around his cloak, pulling out a nondescript burlap bag that jingled with the clink of coin. “Er, do you take Galbradine dabloons or Hjallen drakr?” Armyah stared in fascination as he poured a pile of foreign currency out in front of the harried fruit vendor. There must have been a small fortune contained in that bag. Well…that takes care of that,” he smiled nervously before crying out to the crowd, “free fruit! Come get your free fruit everyone!” A ravenous crowd descended on the bruised fruit, quickly clearing the street of any remnants of the previous mess. Once the replaced the bag in his coat, he hurried over to his companion, checking once again for any injuries. The way he troubled over her was so sweet that her cheeks tinged pink and she chuckled softly.

“Julian…” He ignored her.

“You weren’t hurt, were you?” he fussed, “Everything still where it should be?”

“Julian.” Again, he didn’t listen.

“I’m so sorry about that, Armyah. I should’ve mentioned the streets could get rowdy.” She put her hands on either side of his face to make him look at her.

“Julian, I’m fine,” she smiled sincerely. He grasped her wrists and moved them from his face, but didn’t quite let go yet. He looked longingly at her doe-like, chocolate eyes, he knows he shouldn’t kiss her, but Gods did he want to…

“Right…” he laughed awkwardly. Then, his face lit up, “Ah! I know how to make it up to you! This next place is sure to knock your socks off!” He didn’t bother to wait for an answer, he just pulled her by the wrists and lead her through the side streets. “Nice little teahouse, just down the way. We can just sit there and…”he really didn’t want to say that word again. “…Talk,” he forced out, “it’s cozy, you’ll love it!” He led her further from the rowdy market and deeper into the city, her hands still clasped in his and never wanting to let go.

After a leisurely stroll, Julian’s eye lit up and he nodded to a tall, narrow building, stylish and weather-beaten. No discernible doors or windows, only panels of fresco cracked like eggshells illustrating faded scenes of romance. A particularly risque entwined couple caused Armyah’s ears to burn.

“So, it’s still standing,” the doctor mused, “I used to come here all of the time, back in the day.” A hint of nostalgia twinkled in his stormy eye. “It was an irresistible spot: high ceilings, great ambiance…little booths tucked away in corners.” He coughed awkwardly, face flushing at the memories of quick trysts in shadowed corners, “and underground you could loaf around for hours…just talking.” That word again. “We, ahh…I’ve been meaning to say…” he struggled with a better way to put it. Julian held up a broke, rotted beam for the magician to duck under and lead her down a meandering stairwell to the underground level. “We really do need to talk…”

“So I’ve heard,” she muttered sarcastically, failing to notice him grimace behind her. The bottom of the stairs, a rusty iron door steadfast in the wood-grain. She eyed him warily as he yanked open the stubborn door; bending over one arm at his waist, he ushers her in.

“After you, my dear,” he smiled charmingly. The light inside is scarce, faded fabrics in bold patterns hung at all angles from the rafters. A slim walkway winded through a dusty maze of dramatic curios. Julian not-too-subtly, peered around each corner as if he were a spy, but it didn’t seem he needed to. Somewhere nearby was lifting tones of conversation, though there wasn’t a soul in sight. The doctor gave a side-long glance at his companion, “well…this is all very unlike the way I remember it.” He sighed, disheartened, he was excited to show Armyah the tea shop he had frequented as a younger man. “The place must have gone under…that’s a shame. They used to serve this smokey tea that I haven’t been able to find since.” He lead her through the close corridor, she grasped onto his arm in an effort to not get lost and he savored the feeling of her closeness. Her eyes wandered the room in wonder, trying to discern a theme in the object scattered around them: A wisely smiling, hammered metal moon, huge bolts of fabric sagging over a high-backed chair, flashing spears, and an open chest of tin bells and raggedy feathers. “Now it seems to be some kind of oddities, er…” he struggled with what to call the strange array, “…artifacts…antiques? Emporium of some sort?” One of his hands landed on Armyah’s hip. He couldn’t help but laugh, “How embarrassing…at least it’s still cozy.” The expressive way Julian cocked his eyebrow almost made her laugh until it dropped as he looked up to a familiar looking mask. “Now, what do we have here?” Hanging over a speckled, cloudy mirror was a doctor’s mask that undoubtedly resembled his. Though, this version was an elegant black that faded into a pristine, white gradient. The tips of the eyes were furled into spectacular points with silver trimming, much more suited to the dramatic doctor. “Not really a medical mask,” he observed as he turned it in his hands, tapping it and peering into its gaping eyes, “we used to stuff the beak with herbs, camphor, roses, you know, when we had them.” He chuckled, flipping it around and pausing to process its significance, “I think this one is just a statement piece.”

“Hell of a statement,” Armyah laughed with him. The way he looked at the article so longingly made her heart hurt, “do you want to try it on?” Julian’s jaw dropped as he considered the mask in question. He tossed a sly smile at the young magician’s proposal.

“If you’re suggesting that I miss the one I tossed to the eels…” She looked on eagerly as he chewed his lip at the thought, “let me just tell you how much it pains me that you caught me doing that, but you know…” He ran a slender finger over the long beak, under the curve. Caressing it with careful detachment, “it doesn’t bother me half as much in black.” That beautiful roguish smile of his spread across his lips. “Maybe I will put it on.” She indulges him with a nod of encouragement as he fastened the mask about his head. “Hmm…” he mused as he considered what little he could see in the dirty mirror, “well, it doesn’t smell like any of the herbs we were using.” He held out his arms, palms up, as he posed in front of the glass. “How funny,” he scoffed, “Who would have ever thought that anyone would ever wear something like this for the aesthetic?”

“You mean besides you?” Armyah didn’t forget the mysterious figure in her shop wearing a plague mask even though the disease hadn’t been seen in years. If the mask hadn’t been covering his face she was sure she’d be able to see the blush on his cheeks.

“I may not have contributed to the world of medicine,” he retorted jokingly, “but I was making waves in the world of fashion.” Julian spun to face her again arms spread, still posing impressively with that mischievous smile of his. “How does it look?” Handsome was the first word that came to mind, but she didn’t dare say that out loud, she would never hear the end of it. The fluid line cut across midface, drawing her eyes to the artful shadows of his mouth and jaw.

“Mysterious…” she smiled, chocolate eyes roaming lazily down his form, “like your going to break into a shop and back a young woman into a corner, demanding answers.” There was no hint of bitterness in her voice, he’d almost say she sounded playful. This woman would be the death of him.

“Hmmm?” he purred, stalking forward to the magician, causing her to step back into a table with random props strewn over it, “you mean like this?” His deep, velvety tone caused a shiver to shoot up her spine. The thought was alluring when she knew she wasn’t in any real danger. Julian leaned his arms on either side of Armyah, resting lazily on the table. He leaned down until she could feel his breath on her ear. She could feel her muscles involuntarily leaning closer, but he moved with her so there was barely an inch of space between them. “You think it’d be hard to kiss with one of these?” he teased, his adams apple bobbing as he chuckled indulgently. Her resolve was fading as her lips inched closer to his outstretched neck. She tried to keep herself at a distance, but once her lip barely graze over his pounding pulse her willpower crumbled to dust. She planted an insistent kiss just under his ear. A sigh died in the doctor’s throat as one of his hands came up to cradle the back of her head. “Ahh…you’re so cute,” he clasped his other hand around both of hers and held the to his chest as her mouth continued to caress his jaw. “I just might melt if I spend anymore time with you.” As she brushed her lips back down to his neck, he tilted his head and weaved his fingers into her dark curls. He held her still and close as her breath ghosted over the swell in his throat. “If you’re going to bite…do it right here,” it wasn’t an order, but a suggestion, “you don’t have to be gentle with me.” The magician felt her heart pound in her ears as Julian wrapped his arm around her back, drawing her in. Hesitantly, she catches his pallid skin experimentally between her teeth. The catch in his breath almost makes her pull back and check if he was okay, but when his fingers tighten at the base of her scalp she digs in deeper. The shiver that ripped through him was palpable. “Mmmm…” he groaned sinfully, “that’s more like it.” He pulled at his collar, unfastening the top button and she scraped her canine along the long connection of his collarbone and up to the base of his jaw. The action caused something within the doctor to roar to life. Without thinking, he lifted Armyah onto the table and settled himself between her legs. He ground the swell in his groin against her leg, egging her on as she kneaded his skin between her teeth. “Don’t stop…” he pleaded desperately when she released the pressure, “please doooooooohh…” He can’t bite back the moan as she latches on to the lobe of his blushing ear. He fisted hungrily at her waist, causing the hem of her shirt to ride up ever so slightly and exposing an inch of her flesh to the material of his gloves. Even the slightest touch of leather to her bare skin caused lightening to shoot through her veins making her braver and bite down harder. “Yeeesss…” he hissed, grinding rhythmically into her inner thigh, inches from where she wants him, “That’s it…give me something to remember you by.” Wait…Armyah pulled back and looked questioningly at the doctor.

“Remember me by?” she asked accusingly. It was the way he said it, like he was going somewhere and never returning. His smile never faltered, he shrugged nonchalantly.

“Did I say that out loud?” he waved away and dipped back down to return the assault onto her neck, but she moved away; her wounded expression didn’t fall away. A look crossed his face and his grin faded. Armyah reached past his neck and released the knotted chord behind his head. “Armyah, I…” whatever he was going to say died in his throat before reaching his pale lips. He cupped her face tenderly, the inner conflict between pulling her close or pushing her away pounded in his head. It’s better this way…it’s better this way…it’s better…

“Did you hear that?” Mournful wailing floated through the small room. The magician hopped down from the table and brushed past her companion. While she wasn’t looking, he returned the mask to his face and fastened it on once again. Carefully, the pair skulked in the direction of the howl to a set of heavy, velvet curtains parted by only a thin beam of red light. Heaving beside a shredded daybed under the tinted spotlight was an actor dressed in sheer scarlet robes, wearing a porcelain half mask of mascara-streaked anguish. A very satirical rendition of Count Lucio.

“Wait up in my room? On my birthday?!” the actor Lucio cried with a dramatic arm draped over his forehead, “What do you expect me to do all night in here? Clomp around in my hooves?! Beg the busboy for scraps?!” Another overzealous flourish, “if I can’t disgust anyone doing it, then what is the point!?” Armyah had to clap her hand over her mouth to stop from laughing out loud.

“By the Gods…” Julian mused, “that’s fantastic, it sounds just like him.” It seemed that they had stumbled on some sort of dramatic reenactment and, by the sound of it, the actor had not been given a flattering part. The theater was packed to the rafters with patrons howling with laughter. Even in death, making fun of the Count appeared to be popular in this part of town. “Well, I’m glad to see that the arts are flourishing,” the doctor joked, “a renaissance may have begun since I’ve been away, but…” Julian craned his neck to see more of the stage without being seen, “if this is Lucio on his birthday night, then you don’t suppose this is a show about the murde-” As the audience roars with raucous laughter a sandbag dropped between him and Armyah with a dull, powdery thud just as the curtains were about to close. At the same time, the ankle of Julian’s boot was snagged by a moving rope, dragging him off of his feet and suspending him upside-down over the actor onstage. Too stunned to do anything, he hangs there for a beat before thrashing around like a worm on a hook. He deftly knocks a knife free from his boot and catches it in his hand. The doctor reaches up with a grunt to grab hold of the rope at his ankle, just managing to sever it causing him to fall, splayed and groaning, in the Count’s silky lap.

“Doctor Devorak!” Not-Lucio cried out, rolling with the script change, “Here to cure my boredom?” Shrieking laughter and applause erupted from the audience as Julian visibly swallowed his apprehension. He looked away from the crowd and back to the actor in Lucio’s mask in consideration. Something about the look in his eye told the magician he was just going to go for it. The masked Julian rises onto his knees, looming over the effigy Count, a bark of sharp laughter that sent a giddy shiver down her spine.

“Muahahahah!” his dramatic sinister laugh echoed the theater, “hello my poor, poor patient. The clock strikes thirteen for you tonight!” Julian yanked the opening of his glove back and let it snap back to his wrist and the actor Lucio falls back with a gasp. “I’ve come to end your suffering! Enjoy that gasp for it will be your last.” Armyah looked on with admiration, he looked so happy and in his element being on stage in front of people. A warmth spilled through her chest at the thought of him walking around a free man and joining the community theater on his off days at his private clinic.

“What are you going to do, smother me with your thighs?” Luckily, Armyah’s too-loud laugh was drowned by that of the audience’s. Julian’s head rolled along with his eyes at the suggestion.

“For the hundredth time, no.” Feathers flew as the two masked men tussled on the daybed, the audience clapping delightfully. After some hair pulling, Lucio’s actor reared back and drew a wobbly, foil sword from behind the bed and adopted a fighting stance.

“Give me a real fight, man on man!” the actor challenged, “we’ll see who takes the last gasp!” Julian fell into the same stance, sans sword.

“If it’s a fight you want, it’s a-oh…” A stagehand emerged to present him with another fake sword and scampered out of sight. “It’s uh…it’s a fight you’ll get!” he stammered, getting back into the moment, “En garde!” The comical wobble from the swords as the two men swung at each other had the audience and Armyah in stitches. The sword flies from the grasp of Lucio’s likeness and he collapses over the daybed, Julian’s boot planted on his stomach. “Any last words, Count?”

“Is it money you want, doctor? Fine things? We’re friends, aren’t we?” the actor mock-pleaded, “I’m very generous, you know, and I’ve always liked you best! What’s mine is yours!” Still Julian’s expression stayed grim.

“This may surprise you, Lucio,” he sounded serious, almost like he’d forgotten it was a play, “but some of us don’t kill for money.” He swings the foil sword in the vicinity of the actor’s neck, “Some of us kill to make up for not doing it sooner.” As Julian stared deep into the other masked face, he brought the tip of the sword down to mimic beheading the Count. The crowd went wild. A convulsion and wet gurgle came from Not-Lucio before he went limp. Fake blood and viscera leaked from the “wound” that Julian didn’t really make causing the doctor to step back, looking a bit green. “Oh, well…that was…easier than I though it would be.” Julian just kind of stood there in center stage, looking around for what happens next. “Uh…Now I…now what? I can’t just go unpunished. I have to pay for this…”

“Guards! Hang him!” a voice from offstage cried out. Both Armyah and Julian panicked for a brief moment before they realized it was a stagehand playing along with the scene.

“Uh…not like that.” Julian whirled his coat in a dramatic arc and dashed off the staged, cheers licking at his heels. Armyah was going to wait for him where she was back stage, but voices coming from the opposite direction where Julian went caused her to flee out the way they had came.

Outside and up the stairs, Armyah leaned back against the wall to catch her breath. A smile was still plastered on her face from watching the performance. Her heart was drumming rapidly with adrenaline. Should she wait out here? Should she go back in to look for Julian?

“Armyah! There you are!” Julian rounds the corner before she decided what to do, “what a trip! I’m still one foot in the meta realm! Julian was stumbling, panting and looking disturbed, but elated. “Well, no one seemed to think it was really me.” His hands rested on his hips as he tried to catch his breath. “Was the neighborhood always this skeptic?” he asked more to himself, “…probably.” They looked at each other and bursted into laughter, doubling over and using the other as support. As it died away, Julian’s grin faltered. He didn’t even have to say it…she knew what it was. He took a hand in each of his and looked deeply, forlornly, into her chocolate eyes. “Armyah…I’d like to take you over to the Raven for a bite to eat.” That’s not what she was expecting. Part of her wanted him to say what he wanted to say already, but a larger part wanted him to keep stalling. “If you’d be so forgiving as to join me? My treat, of course.” He looked at her pleadingly, “And after that maybe a nice stroll down to the docks? How does that sound?”

“That sounds lovely…” she tried to hide the sadness in her voice, but it didn’t work. His hand instinctively rose to cup her cheek in comfort. Linking her arm in his, he escorted her to the Rowdy Raven.

Dinner was good, but they mostly ate in silence. Neither able to look the other in the eye with fear of chickening out on what needed to be said. Julian walked ahead of the magician, a tall black silhouette against the rocky shore. There’s a tension in him that had been building all day. Arymah felt like it was about to crash over both of them. Shiny black boots stop at the rotting wood pier. The deafening silence finally broken by rolling waves on the sea. Julian’s mouth opened and closed a few times mustering up the courage to speak, but each time he just stared off into the fathomless sea.

“Feel that breeze…” he said, finally, “nice breeze for sailing, don’t you think?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. Shaking his head, his eye drops to stare down past the dock. “Armyah…listen. We, uh…we really need to talk.” The magician padded carefully beside him, taking a seat with her olive legs hanging off the edge of the pier. “We’ve been needing to talk all day and…” he took a seat next to her, his legs were considerably longer so the heels of his boots skimmed the water’s surface, “I guess I was having so much fun that I didn’t want to think about it.” The doctor heaved a sigh, trying to find the best way to say what he was trying to all day.

“I had fun today, too,” her voice was barely a whisper. It wasn’t a lie, she truly enjoyed her time with him unorthodox as it was. Seeing him in the city with a smile on his face and not a care in the world…it felt good.

“Really?” he chuckled, “even the part where I destroyed a fortune of fruit? Or accidentally crashed a play?”

“Especially then.” She hadn’t really seen much of the city past her neighborhood. Asra would never had taken her to this part of town. It was exhilarating to be a part of the community. Seeing what things could be like from a different perspective. “The people in town seemed to really love you.” He scoffed, but she didn’t miss the blush creeping across his face.

“They’re good people,” he shrugged, “hardworking, dedicated. But covering for me is putting them in danger. I know they’d take any chance to get back at the palace so I can’t fault them for that.” He sighed, defeated, “if anything happened to them because of me…because of my mess…” Julian turns to look her in the eye, clasping her hands in his, “Armyah, I’m a disaster waiting to happen…and I don’t want that disaster to happen to you, too.” She didn’t know how to respond, she reached up and placed her hand on his porcelain skin. He leaned into her touch as though he craved it. After a quiet moment, he pulled away to point at the island across from them. Black against the night sky on the horizon. “See that island? That’s-”

“The Lazaret…” Armyah didn’t know how she knew the name, but it was eerily familiar. Something about it caused her stomach to twist with anxiety, but she wasn’t quite sure why.

“That’s where the city sent their infected during the height of the plague,” Julian explained, “a perfect monument to my failures…always visible from the shore. Always reminding the city how much it suffered.” Sighing once again, he grabbed a small, flat rock and flung it at the water. It skipped twice before sinking into the frothy waves. “Every death, every body burnt in those pits is another mark against me,” he laughed bitterly, “and there are so many marks…” The magician fiddled with a loose thread at the hem of her skirt in a too-long awkward silence. Julian sigh heavily, “I don’t want to drag this out, Armyah…but whatever this was, whatever it could’ve been…” The insinuation made her heart lurch. What was this between them? What did she want it to be? She was too busy living in the moment to really think long term. “It has to end…before I hurt you.” Armyah’s heart crumbled. Sure, she was anticipating this talk, but to actually hear it…she willed herself not to cry, but that didn’t stop a few tears from escaping.

“You won’t hurt me…” she sniffed, wiping her tears away before he saw. It was too late.

“Oh…Armyah, please…” he thumbed a stray tear from her chin, “Please don’t cry. It’s only a matter of time before I hurt you. It’s what I do…It’s what I’ve always done.” His stormy eye was misty, he hated this, but it had to be done. “I’ll be the first to admit my faults, and there are so many. I lose myself. Or maybe this is the real me. Someone who hurts…a failure.”He leaned his elbows on his knees and cradled his head in his hands. “You saw me on stage…there’s a darkness inside of me.”

“That was acting…” He shook his head.

“Not all of it,” he replied, “I don’t know if I killed the Count, but I know I could have. Isn’t that enough to damn me?” None of the reasons had to do with whatever was between them, it was as if he were making excuses to push her away because he’s afraid. None of them told her how he really feels about her.

“Tell me to leave,” she commanded softly. No anger, no bitterness, she was sincere.

“What?” he starts, nearly falling forward into the sea, but catching himself at the last second.

“Tell me to leave,” she repeated, “tell me you don’t want me and I’ll go…no questions asked.” Julian swallowed hard, body racked with tension. It looked like he was spring from her at any second. His mouth open and closes a few times before he finally answers, once again averting his eye.

“It doesn’t matter what I want…” he shakes his head. Armyah lifts up to sit on her knees, facing the doctor.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He spares her a sidelong glance, a smiles twitches at the corner of his mouth.

“Tenacious, aren’t you?” he chuckled, “it’s one of the things I like about you.” Another sigh, “No matter what happens…you keep moving forward. You’re like a great, bright light, drawing me towards you.” He fully turns so he can look into her chocolate eyes, making sure she knows he means every word. “I just can’t help myself…like a moth to a flame.” He hangs his head pitifully, “if I was a stronger man…if I wasn’t so weak…” Chewing his bottom lip, he looks defeated. He clasped his hands around her shoulders, eye wide and pleading, “Don’t go…I want you…” His eye flickering from her eyes to her full lips. “I know it’s only been a short time, but I feel like I’ve known you for years.” This was Julian pouring his heart out onto her, just like he had been dying to do. Vulnerable and desperate. “I want to be around you. I can’t stop thinking about you, even when you’re not around. That’s the problem, Armyah!” He shakes her shoulders lightly, punctuating his torment, “I’m torn! My brain tells me to leave, but my heart keeps pulling me back!” Letting her go, Julian slumps forward, trying to hide himself in the hunch of his shoulders between them. “If I walk away from you now, can I stay away? Or will I find myself walking right back to you?” He turns his body to the water once again, legs dangling from the pier. “Whatever path we take, it’ll lead to ruin…that’s the kind of man I am. There’s no future for us that doesn’t end in pain for you.” Armyah didn’t say anything through his entire monologue. She knew it wasn’t true, but it was pointless to argue, he wouldn’t see reason. A few moments of awkward silence passed between them. “Armyah, please say something…”

“Is that all you see? Tragedy?” He laughed bitterly.

“Tragedy is what I’m good at,” he shrugged, “I’m the star of my own one-man play. In this world we don’t get what we want…why waste time imagining something you can’t ever have? It just makes it hurt more when you don’t get it.”

“Try,” she challenged tenderly. He looked at her oddly at her dare, “try, for me.” A bark of laughter, but no mirth. Julian stared off to the dark horizon, lips curled back.

“What do you want from me, Armyah?” he glared at the moon hanging heavily over the water. “That I want a future? To Live? Love?” Shaking his head, he gets to hit feet. The old pier creaks under his boots. The fortune-teller stays seated, unsure of what comfort to offer him. “Ooooh, I can see it now: warm laughter, light hearts, and never a dull night.” Armyah couldn’t tell if he was mocking her or sincere. “Days spent with friends, Pasha never having a reason to cry again.” He swallows hard, and shakes his head, like he can’t cast off whatever dark thoughts plague him. “…I’ll walk you home.” The doctor offers her help up from the edge of the dock, which she accepts graciously. He leads her from the beach and back into town, his hands deep in his pockets. Every so often he opened his mouth to say something, but he makes a face and loses his nerve. He effortlessly navigates the side streets straight to the shop and turns to the magician, finality thick in his voice. “Well, here we are…” He knew he should just turn and leave, not letting himself change his mind, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. She looked so sad and pitiful, her large doe-eyes glossed over from tears threatening to fall. “When I came to Vesuvia I was seeking answers and, instead, I found you…” He smiled, his thumb grazing her chin, “That was a rare treat.” He looked at her mouth, unsure if he was allowed to kiss her or not, “the time we spent together, however brief…it mattered so much to me. I won’t forget you…”

“You better not,” Armyah joked. They shared a short laugh before falling silent once again. She leaned forward and placed a reassuring kiss to his pale cheek, lips lingering a second too long. Just as soon as she pulled back, Julian pulled her back in for a crushing hug, his hands fisted in her shirt. That was her breaking point, salty tears streamed steadily from her eyes. When the finally stepped back from the other, neither said a word and with a dramatic whirl of his cape, he was gone. Footsteps echoed down the sidestreet until they, too, faded away. Stepping into the doorway of the shop, Armyah leaned against the doorway; doubled over and allowing herself to sob freely in the comfort of her own home. She didn’t notice the steam wafting from the upper rooms or Asra poking his fluffy head down the stairwell.

“Armyah?!” he exclaimed as he rushes to her and pulls her into am all-consuming hug. She looked up, but the relief of seeing her teacher after so long only caused her to cry harder. “What happened? Are you alright?!” She nodded yes despite not being able to speak through her sobs. He just held her until her crying turned into sniffles. Pulling back, she wiped her runny nose on her sleeve.

“It’s nothing…” she sniffed, “it’s stupid…” She didn’t want to open a can of worms knowing Asra’s feelings toward the doctor.

“It’s not stupid if it upsets you,” he smiled kind and carefree, “but you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” He wrapped a reassuring arm around his apprentice’s shoulders, “come on, I’ll make some Chamomile tea…your favorite. I even got some really good honey on my trip, I know how much you like honey in your tea.” Some tea and good company was exactly was Arymah needed right now. She trudged up the stairs, feeling heavy after such a long outing with Julian. ‘Julian…’ she thinks of him disappearing into the darkness and her heart aches all over again. Something smooth and cold slid over her feet as she reached the top step. She looks down to find Faust’s ruby eyes staring up at her. Armyah scooped the serpent up and held her close as she settled at the table in the little corner and watched Asra bustle at the kitchenette. In a moment, he has two steaming mugs and sets one in front of the young woman and takes a seat across from her. There’s a thick silence between them as Arsa seemed to eye her evenly. “Armyah…” the magician starts, his voice unnervingly calm, “Faust tells me you’ve been spending time with Ilya?” Who? Oh right, she had forgotten that Julian wasn’t his real name.

“I was…” her eyes didn’t leave her cup.

“Was?” he cocked an eyebrow, but when he realized what she meant he relaxed a bit. “Say no more…I know exactly what happened. He decided what was best for you and wouldn’t listen when you told him he was wrong, right?” Armyah didn’t say anything, “probably right after jumping headfirst into a relationship and featuring at least one dramatic speech.” His violet eyes looked pointedly at her, “Well, how did I do?” He was right, but it didn’t make her feel better. A few more tears ran down her cheeks, but that didn’t stop him. “The only think he loves more than drama is his own suffering and he’s determined to chase both.” Her hands tightened around her mug.

“It’s not like that,” she said through gritted teeth. She didn’t appreciate the was that Arsa talked about her…about Juilan.

“Isn’t it?” he retorted a little more harshly than he intended. She was just as stubborn as Ilya… “It’s easy to forget when you’re around him. He fills the room with excitement and makes you feel special. Then, he finds some way to sabotage it.” He laughs bitterly, “I’ve never met someone so dedicated to their own unhappiness as Ilya.” Asra shakes his head and leans back in his chair, taking a sip of his tea, “that’s why I told you to stay away from him…I knew he’d hurt you.”

“He wouldn’t hurt me,” she was frustrated. Between Julian’s stubbornness and Asra talking about him like that, she had enough.

“Wouldn’t hurt you?” her teacher scoffed, “Armyah, look at yourself…you’re miserable because of him! You don’t need that toxicity…you need to stay away from him.” Armyah stood up and slammed her hands down on the table so hard her mug turned over, spilling her tea onto the floor.

“I don’t need to do anything!” she cried. Suddenly, an immense pain shot like lightening behind her eyes and over to her temples. She saw Arsa in front of her, they were in the same room she had woken up in Asra’s arms. They were arguing about something and he had a large bag on his shoulders. Armyah looked at the real Arsa, still sitting at the table, eyes wide. “I’ve…said that to you before, haven’t I?” she said shakily, head still pounding.

“You have,” Asra nodded clamly. Steadying her breaths, she sank back down in her chair.

“Did…we have this argument before?” Arsa chuckled softly and shook his head, smiling.

“No, not about this,” he sighed. He remembered that he told her he would start being more open and honest. “After the plague started I wanted to leave…you didn’t.” Another shot of pain, she could hear their voices now:

Arsa paced back and forth in front of her, air huffing out of his nose. She had walked in on him packing his belongings into a bag. Another bag was open on the double bed, a few of her clothes stuffed haphazardly into it. Her questioning developed into an argument when she refused to flee the city to Nopal with him.

“People are dying, Armyah!” he bellowed, “what don’t you understand about that?” She was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed and scowling.

“I understand perfectly that these people need help!” Asra rushed forward and grasped her shoulders in each hand, wide-eyed and desperate.

“Armyah, you can’t help them,” he pleaded, “we need to leave!”

“I don’t need to do anything!” she shouted back…

“Armyah?” a voice shook her out of her memory. Asra was beside her, bringing a handkerchief to her face. “Armyah, your nose…” She brought her hand under the napkin and dabbed her nose. Crimson blotted the off-white fabric…her nose was bleeding. Another swipe and it was completely gone, but it was no less concerning. “I shouldn’t have said that…I knew it would make you remember.” Armyah shook her head, silencing her teacher.

“I’m glad you did,” she smiled, happy that there was a way to recover her lost memories. “My head is killing me, but it feels good to remember something from before.” The magician’s mouth twitched in a smile before frowning once again.

“I’m sorry about before too…” he sighed softly, “you’re your own person and I can’t tell you what to do.” She stood and pulled her friend into a hug, showing him that he was forgiven. When they pulled away, he rested his hands on her shoulders. “Just…please be careful with him. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“I will, Asra,” she nodded, “thanks for looking out for me.” They shared another hug until she quickly pushed him back, remembering something else. “Oh! The deck!” She pulled the cards out from her bag. They seemed to have an excited aura now that they were back in his hands. He passed his hand over them, and when he moved again they were gone. Disappeared into thin air. Armyah rolled her eyes, she had seen that trick a thousand times. “Show someone else that trick if you want some applause,” she laughed. The apprentice couldn’t help but notice he looked more relieved once his deck was returned. They stood in silence for a moment until Asra looked at her again.

“How about some food?” he smiled brightly. Not waiting for her answer, he slid languidly and started to clink around the kitchenette, humming idly to himself and leaving his student to her thoughts. Armyah grabbed a rag and started to mop up the spilled tea from the table and floor. Something in her gut told her that tonight wasn’t the last time she was going to see Julian, whether either of them liked it or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I know literally nothing about palmistry! I got all the information for the reading from http://psychiclibrary.com/beyondBooks/palmistry-room/  
> Please let me know how I’m doing!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Mentions of alcohol, Get’s pretty steamy in the library

A loud knock woke Armyah with a start, squinting under the scrutiny of the sun’s rays glaring through the window. She had slept in. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she hauled herself out of bed, and pulled her clothes on. Asra’s bed was already empty, but another pounding knock tells her that he’s out and about in town. That’s not so unusual…he is usual up and gone before his apprentice. Armyah shuffled down the stairs as she covered a yawn.

“Armyah? You home?” a voice called out from the other side of the heavy, wooden door, “It’s Portia, we really need to talk!” Armyah winced; last time she heard a Devorak tell her they “needed to talk” it didn’t end well. Then, realization struck…did something happen with Julian? The magician dove for the door handle and flung it open. The magician eased when her friend didn’t seem panicked. Instead, she moved aside to let Portia in. “There you are!” she beamed, “Phew, I was hoping to catch you before you left.” Before she could continue, she gets distracted by the shop around her. Her expression makes it obvious that she wasn’t familiar with magic shops. “This is your shop?” Portia said in awe, mouth agape, “look at this place!” She peered down into a crystal ball, tapping on it as if it were a fish bowl. The servant moved to a shelf with various herbs and spices to examine them. Plucking a vial of dried agrimony of the shelf, she uncorks it and inhales its sweet scent deeply before replacing it on the display.

“Portia?” Armyah chuckled as her friend was reaching for a phial of angelica root, “you said we needed to talk?” Portia looked back at the magician, face red with embarrassment.

“Oh, sorry,” her smile faded as she chewed on her lip, “Milady wanted me to check up on you…see how the investigation was going.” She didn’t meet the fortune-teller’s eyes. “You know, with Ily- I mean…Doctor Devorak.” Armyah leaned her hip on the glass counter and smiled knowingly at the other woman.

“Do you really want me to catch him?” Portia scoffed, blue eyes darting around the shop.

“Pbbbfft, me?” she laughed nervously, “Why would that matter?” She made the mistake of looking at the magician, her smile never ceasing. “I…” she sighed, defeated, “…no.”

“Me either,” Armyah admitted, looking away. Even with everything that happened last night, she still didn’t want to see him hanged. Tension released from Portia’s shoulders and her face lit up in a smile.

“Great!” she squealed with glee, “so we’re partners then.” The fortune-teller pushed off the counter.

“Partners?”she looked at her friend oddly. There was a twinkle in the servants eyes as she nodded rapidly.

“Yeah! We want the same thing, right?” Portia gestured between the two of them, “you don’t want my brother to die, I don’t want my brother to die.” A clap of her hands rung out through the empty store-front, “now we just have to work of making sure my brother doesn’t want my brother to die.” Easier said than done. “We need to get him out of the city…as long as he’s in Vesuvia, he’s in danger.”

“Will he even let us help?” Last night he didn’t seem interested in letting anyone close. Not even his sister and…whatever Armyah is to him. She doubted that he had changed his mind over night.

“Sounds like your talking from experience,” Portia offered a sympathetic smile. Armyah looked away quickly in an effort to hide the blush spreading across her cheeks. It didn’t work. “Let me guess…it’s to ‘keep you safe’?” Armyah blinked back the tears threatening to spill. A hand on her shoulder made her turn to her friend. “He used to do that to me all the time when we were younger…he never let me handle anything,” she rolled her eyes in annoyance, “always shouldering someone else’s burdens all while lamenting how heavy the load is.” They shared a laugh at Juilan’s expense and Portia clapped the magician on the shoulder. “Come on, Ilya needs people he can rely on,” she starts toward the door with purpose, a familiar mischievous smile painted on her face, “and I think I might know where to find him. Follow me.”

The Rowdy Raven was quiet as the pair stepped inside. A few patrons milled about, talking in low murmurs. The burly bartender behind the counter nods at them before returning to the cloth he was swirling around the glasses. They glance around the room until the tell-tale flash of auburn catches Armyah’s eye and she nods in its direction for Portia to see. Julian was slumped over the table, face obscured by his messy curls. Glasses similar to the full one in his hand littered the table.

“Oh boy…” Portia groaned, motioning the magician to follow her. The red-headed woman marched over to the table with the lanky doctor and stood at the edge with hands on her hips. Armyah slid into the booth across from him and cleared her throat loudly to get his attention, but he didn’t move. The girls shared a look in agreement. Portia slammed her hands down on the table and leaned against her arms. “ILYA!” Julian jumped a foot, nearly dropping his stein, and blinked blearily between the magician and his sister.

“Armyah! Portia! You’re here…in the Raven…in front of me,” he stammered, eye wide and face flushed from a mix of embarrassment and inebriation. “What, uh…what are you doing here?” He was looking at Armyah, but she swallowed thickly, unable to form words. Seeing him like this broke her heart. Her mind was running a million miles per second. She wasn’t sure whether to kiss him or slap him. Luckily, Portia was there to the rescue.

“What are you doing here?” she seethed, “it’s the middle of the day!” Julian laughed as if he remembered an inside joke with himself.

“It’s never too early for a glass of Salty Bitters, Bartholomew makes a grand one,” he waved over to the bartender, “Hey, Barth! Two more Salty Bitters, would you?” Barth looked up from his glass, but Portia waved him off.

“This is a good way to get yourself caught, Ilya!” Portia reasoned, but he only scoffed.

“Good. I deserve it,” he threw his arms out dramatically, hitting a chair in the process, “Look at me, Armyah, I’m all…” he hiccuped, “I’m all washed up! If you weren’t relieved last night, you will be now.” He leaned back and draped his arm over his face, “you’d better get out of here before I drag you down too.” That was the last straw, she wasn’t about to leave him there to wallow in his own self-pity until he gets arrested.

“No.” she deadpanned. Julian blinked and looked at her confused.

“I-er…what?” he hadn’t heard that tone since she commanded him to stop moving while she was searching him outside her shop…he kind of liked it.

“We’re not leaving,” she shrugged nonchalantly. He looked at her for a moment, processing what she said, before dropping his head to the table and groaning.

“I don’t want either of you tangled up in this mess,” his voice was quiet and muffled in reluctant admission, “I can’t be the reason you get hurt.” Portia shook her head.

“We get to decide that, Ilya, not you!” she crossed her arms over her chest, “stop trying to push us away.” The doctor groaned again before lifting his head with a deep sigh.

“Well…you both came all this way,” he smiled innocently, “Pull up a seat and take a load off. Have a Salty Bitters, they’re disgusting.” He sneered in disgust before flashing that roguish grin of his, “I’ve had five.” Julian looked like he was in no rush to move, but they couldn’t stay in the Raven all day.

“We have two options,” Armyah started, “we can either spend the day here, crying into our drinks…” she gave the doctor a pointed look.

“That’s my vote!” he replied, raising his stein before taking a large gulp.

“Or we can find out the truth and discover what really happened the night of the Masquerade.”

“Third option,” Portia offered, “we get Ilya the hell out of town now and figure out the rest later.”

“I can’t just run away, Pasha,” he furrowed his brow, “I tried to before and it didn’t turn out so well…it’s time to face the music.” His sister waved off the beginnings of a dramatic monologue.

“Fine, fine,” she rolled her eyes, “so, if you didn’t kill the Count, someone else must have, right?” Julian looked at her in horror.

“I, uh…I didn’t actually think about that,” he stroked his chin in thought, “either I did it, or there’s another killer on the loose. Which is…bad.” They needed a plan if they wanted to discover with really happened that night. Julian’s life could depend on it. If there was a way to get him to remember…wait.

“We need to get to the Count’s room!” Armyah blurted out a little too loudly. Her companions looked at her oddly, “It might help jog his memory!” It work for her last night when her and Asra were arguing, maybe it’ll work for Julian.

“How will we get Ilya into the palace undetected?” Portia retorted, “if someone sees him it’s all over.” Armyah smiled mischievously…she had been hanging around the Devoraks too long.

“They’re not going to see him,” she mused. The siblings looked at each other and then back at the magician, still dumbfounded.

“Have you been hitting the Bitter Saltys- or whatever- when I wasn’t looking?” Portia scoffed, ignoring Julian’s attempts of correcting the name of his precious drink.

“There’s a spell I can use,” she laughed, “something to disguise him.” Julian’s eye went wide, a slight gleam hinted at some curiosity.

“You mean I’d become another person?” he chewed his lip deep in thought, “but who would I become?” There was only one person that would make sense to be coming into the palace with her and Portia, but she’s not sure Julian is going to like it.

“I think I have an idea,” she dodged the question, “come on, I’ll change you in the ally.” She gestured her companions to follow as her and Portia helped support the doctor from the table to the back door as he tried valiantly to keep his balance. They hid in a secluded corner of the very alley that Armyah bumped into Julian when she ran from the palace, well away from prying eyes. She didn’t tell them, but she had never used a glamour spell herself, but she had seen Asra do it dozens of times. She was sure she could it. “Close your eyes, Julian,” she directed as she bent down to gather some dirt from the ground. He does as she said and she blows it onto him, shimmering in the air before settling onto his skin, sending ripples of magic across his body. His auburn hair turns white and his pallid skin tans instantly. Even his clothing changes from his usual dark uniform to a tunic and a colorful vest and wrap. Stormy eyes fade into a brilliant amethyst as he blinked rapidly in confusion.

“Ooooh! Who’s he?” Portia squealed, “he’s handsome!” Julian looked down at his glamoured self to inspect his new identity, but couldn’t discern anything from what he saw.

“Who is it?” he looked around for something to look at himself in, “Who do I look like?” Scrambling to his knees to gaze into a puddle, a familiar face looks back at him…Asra. “Ooh, I am definitely too drunk for this.” He might have had the magician’s face, but his smile was all Julian. He made a number of faces into the puddle; eyebrows up, eyebrows down, smile, frown, sticking out his tongue to see a jewel settled into it. “When did he pierce his tongue?!” he cried out in disbelief. The girls ignored him, pulling him to his feet and dragging toward the palace.

Julian dedicated the entire journey back to the palace on practicing his Asra impression. Regardless of his glamoured self being shorter, his pace was still quick like before with his long legs. By the time the reach the bridge, Armyah and Portia leaned on the ramparts to catch their breaths.

“How do you suppose he’d be feeling in this moment?” Julian mused mostly to himself, eyes narrowed, “like a lamb, entering the den of wolves? Or maybe…a wolf, entering a den of vipers, hmm?” He chuckled to himself, “Vipers he wouldn’t mind, he and Faust would fit right in.” He winced at the thought, his face- Asra’s face- turns to Armyah, tight with pain. “Faust…that’s the snake’s name, isn’t it?” The magician nodded, still panting. His brow pinches and he rubs his temples in irritation, “I remember the snake…she nearly squeezed the life out of me once.” Armyah smiled, but he looked away once he saw it. He had been like that since the bar; keeping a careful distance between them and casting searching, hopeful glances to her, but shying away when she tries to return any kind of reassurance. He wanted it to all be okay, but he knew she wouldn’t forgive him for breaking her heart last night.

“Hey, Ilya,” Portia called out, breath returning to her, “I know this is gonna be a challenge for you, but try not to talk too much, okay?” She rolled her eyes when Julian clutched his chest as if she wounded him, before regaining his composure.

“Naturally not,” he reasoned, “Asra doesn’t talk much.” A blush flooded across his tan face, “believe me, it’s hard to maintain such an aura of mystery once you open your mouth.” There was a deeper meaning behind that statement, but neither Portia or Armyah could place it.

“Maybe he was quiet around you,” his sister jabbed, “you’ve got a real bad habit of doing the talking for everyone, Ilyushka.” Armyah’s heart fluttered, she loved his real name. As much as she wanted to, she thought it would be strange for her to call him that when he’s only introduced himself to her as “Julian”. When they reached the looming threshold, Portia held her breath, squared her shoulders, and thrust open the great doors. They part for the trio to step inside and close behind them with a sound like grinding stone. The girl expected to be greeted by a plethora of servants, but exchanged an uneasy glance when there was no one to be found. “Where is everybody?” she wondered aloud before shrugging, “Well, where can I take you first, oh great magicians?” Julian was still on high alert despite the unusually sparse hallway, his eyes darted around the room in apprehension.

“The bedroom,” he finally answered, “the room where the dark deed was done.” Another roll of her eyes, Portia gestured for them to follow her lead. The dogs were not on their step and, for some reason, that was unsettling to Armyah. The air grew cold as the three ascended the stairs to Count Lucio’s wing. There were sounds, voices, echoing up and down the hall at Portia lead them to his room. Julian fidgeted beside the magician, casting sidelong glances to her when he thought she wasn’t looking. In an effort to comfort him, she placed a careful hand on his arm, but he only stiffened underneath it so she pulled away. “Didn’t you say no one ever comes to these rooms anymore?” he asked their guide.

“No, never in the years I’ve been here,” Portia replied evenly, “but there are a lot of stories floating around downstairs. People have heard things…seen things.” When they reached the door, a ghostly moan floated through the rafters, making Julian bristle from head to toe. Portia tentatively turns the handle to find it already unlocked, she cautiously leans on it when- CRASH! The room shakes from the inside and the door swings open. Inside, the room is already occupied; servants scrubbing the surfaces caked in many years’ grime. Wide, sweeping streaks of ash climbed the wall behind the heavy canopy bed and standing beside the best was a very wide-eyed Countess Nadia. She looks from Portia, to Armyah, to Julian with a flash of recognition.

“Portia, there you are,” she greets evenly, “Hello, Armyah…and who is this?” Julian clears his throat nervously.

“I am the majulian-er magician, Arsa,” he announced, too dramatically for Arsa, “here to help my apprentice help you, Countess.” As Nadia steps closer, a cold tremor ran down the glamoured doctor’s spine

“Asra…” a slight smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, “at last, we meet.”

“Ah, yes, I’d have offered my help earlier, you see, but, uh…” Julian stammered, searching for something Arsa would say, “I was on a, uh…a quest!” He shouted a bit too loudly before regaining his composure, “yes! A quest to…um…open my…third ear!” Armyah had to bite back a groan. This was going to end horribly.

“I see…” Nadia’s brilliant garnet eyes narrowed in what looked like suspicion. For a moment, Armyah and Portia thought they were found out. “My apologies, I thought we had met before…but you are indeed a stranger to me.” Portia heaved a sigh of relief and the tension in Armyah’s shoulders released. “Or my eyes deceive me…it is terribly dim,” she gestured over to a cobwebbed sconce high up on the dusty wall, too high to reach by hand, “perhaps if that lamp was lit.” Armyah saw Julian’s throat bob from the corner of her eye. He gives her a sidelong glance before he gives a dramatic flourish. Discreetly, the actual magician sent a bolt of fiery intention toward the lamp. The light burst with life with a snap, showering sparks into a portrait of the Count underneath the sconce. “Oh my!” Nadia gasped. As the sparks start to smoke, Portia snatches a nearby ladder and rushes to take care of it.

“It’s fine, milday,” she scrambled up the ladder, “I got it!” The servant beats the embers away from the painting’s face with a rag. As she was doing so, Armyah noticed a shape of white smoke forming in a dusty corner. She clutched Julian’s arm involuntarily, but he doesn’t turn in time to see the flash of movement dart across the room and collide with the ladder his sister was standing on. Knocked off balance, the ladder comes crashing down and taking Portia with it…into Nadia’s waiting arms.

“My heavens!” the Countess exclaimed, “Portia!” The two women blinked at each other before blushing and Portia straightened herself out, dusting herself off.

“So quick! That was a feat of amazing foresight, Countess!” Julian said too quickly, in effort to distract from the awkward tension, “Almost as if you saw the future!” All eyes laid on him oddly as he swallowed thickly, “you may have, uh…abilities in, uh…magic!” Nadia eyed him curiously.

“I wonder…” she replied, unconvinced, “perhaps when I am through here, I shall join you both investigating-”

“In the library!” Portia cried, “Investigating in the library.” The Countess bristled at the sudden outburst, but quickly regained her composure to look between the magician, his apprentice, and her servant.

“Ah yes, a perfect place to start,” her gaze settled on the younger Devorak, “Portia, I believe you keep the keys.”

“I uh…yes!” she stammered, “I…ahem, follow me.” Portia’s eyes glittered as she led them out of the room. Once the door was shut and the trio was alone, Julian lost the fine control of his Asra facade and allowed a grin of delight stretch across his face. A smile too much like himself to pass as anyone else.

“Well…” he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, “that went well.” They all shared a strained laugh.

“Did it, Mr. Majulian?” Portia teased, poking her brother in the ribs.

“On a quest to open your ‘third ear’?” Armyah joined in. The girls held their sides as they laughed. Portia snorted as she laughed, which only made the magician laugh even harder. Julian crossed his arms in front of his chest in mock indignation.

“Are we done?” he tried to sound irritated, but a smile slipped through the cracks.

“Yeah…” Portia said between lessening fits of laughter, wiping her eyes of tears. She beckoned the others to follow her down the hallway.

By the time they reached the library, Armyah’s brows her pinched together in strain, the throbbing in her head was almost too much to bear. A cloud was closing in on her vision and her magic was hanging on it’s last thread, threatening to give way at any moment. However, she was determined to not let the glamour drop until they were behind closed doors. Portia could see her discomfort so she made quick work of the locks, mentioned something about keeping watch, and let the door shut and lock behind her once Julian and the fortune-teller were inside. Armyah fell against the nearest wall and let Julian’s glamour drop like sheer fabric from his hair to his boots. He rushed over to the magicians side and rested his hands on either side of her face.

“Are you alright?” he tilted her head so he could see her clearly. She looked exhausted, a clear display of overexertion. She reached up to wrap her hands around his wrists, savoring the feeling of is touch.

“I’m fine,” she assured him, pulling his hands away from her face. “Glamour is a tough spell and the veil is thin here…” Julian pulled away from her, satisfied with her answer, and looked around the library.

“I can sense that too,” he mused, more to himself, “I may not know magic, but there’s definitely something going on here.” His gloved fingers brushed along the dusty spines of books lined up on the shelf. “Something beyond my knowledge.” He turned back to the magician with a smile and flourish of his coat, “lucky for us we’re in a library so let’s see what we can learn.” Armyah returned the smile and pushed off the wall to follow him.

They slipped through the stacks, Julian’s eye scanned across the tomes and plucking certain ones off the shelves and tucking them neatly under his arms.

“All these books, and I kept going back to the same old…” his voice was low, talking to himself, “around that corner…I had a desk.” His pace quickened, “it’s close, at the back of my mind. I can taste it!” He spun around suddenly, causing Armyah to jump. He was startled as well, like he had forgotten she was there. He started at her for a second too long, blushed and cast a bashful gaze to the floor. “You’re mad…” her brow furrowed. Was she? Should she be? He did break up with her the night before. Was it a break up? They weren’t really seeing each other. Did she even have a right to be upset? He doesn’t belong to her, they didn’t have any sort of relationship that would render her to be upset.

“I’m not mad,” she said sincerely.

“You’re not, huh,” he looked past her, “you know there is such a thing as being too forgiving, right?” Armyah sighed, making him look at her.

“Julian, I know you want me to be mad,” she said evenly, “you want me to scream at you, berate you for breaking my heart and tell you I never want to see you again.” His gaze dropped to the floor. She closed the distance between them, chest flush against his so he was force to look her in the eyes. “I don’t want that.” He gripped her upper arms tightly as if she’d vanish into thin air if he let go.

“Armyah, I…” His stormy eye went wide suddenly and his breath catches. Shuffling past her to a cluttered, unassuming desk tucked away in a dark, dusty corner of the library…his desk. “There it is,” he breathed, “that’s my desk.” He seemed to forget everything else as he tore through it in pursuit of something. Papers that he tossed haphazardly were meticulous drawings, diagrams, and logs. Armyah retrieved one from the floor and examined it as he rambled to himself. It was a beetle…she knew she had seen it before, but she couldn’t place from where.

“Julian, do you-”

“Ah ha!” Julian interrupted. His hand was trembling and in it, an oily metal key with a red stone in the eye. “This! This is what has been calling to me! Don’t ask me how I know, but I know it.” He tosses it into the air, snatching it on the way down and pocketing it with a scheming gleam in his eye. He grasps Armyah and pins her to the bookshelf behind her in manic excitement, “I’m one step closer and if it wasn’t for you, dear Armyah, I’d still be two behind.” He sweeps the magician off her feet victoriously and spins her in his arms. His joy was contagious and she laughed along with him. She thought he would do a jig until a guttural screech made them jump and Julian yanked her down to the nearest corner, pinning her with quivering arms as he watched the window. A slow, deep breath as he relaxes, “just a bird…sorry.” His gaze trails down to her chocolate eyes and pushes a stray lock of curly hair behind her ear. “About everything, Armyah…I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking, rejecting you like I did.” His eye flickered from her eyes to her her lips, slightly parted and so inviting. His throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly, “I can’t stop thinking about you. I try to push you away for your safety, but I always find myself running back to you.” He gently cupped her cheek and almost melted when she leaned into it. “Like a moth to a flame, I can’t stay away. You are the very air I breathe, the water I drink to survive. I-”

“Julian…” Armyah cut off his monologue. His eye snapped to hers, pleadingly, “shut up and kiss me.” He freezes, eye wide. The magician stared him down, almost daring him to as if he had heard her correctly. Instead, he flashes that roguish grin of his as leather clad fingers grasped the back of her neck and crashes his lips against hers, ravenously. He steps forward to close what little space was between them and his other hand snakes around to the small of her back, pulling her to him. Her hands grab at the chest of his jacket, beckoning him closer if it were even possible. Her heart pounding in her ears was impossibly loud and time seemed to slow down around them. Parting for air, he presses his forehead to hers he gives her a suffering look.

“Oh, if we had time, the things I would do…” before he could continue, she tilts her head to the juncture of his neck and shoulder and bites down…hard. A moan erupts from the back of his throat and it’s as if a fire was ignited within him. Before she could react, he spins them both until her hips are pressed against the desk and he lifts her onto it, knocking the books onto the floor. “Don’t mind those,” he breaths, lips never leaving hers. She can feel him, hot and hard on her inner thigh and the way he grinds against her sends white hot flames to her core. His movements cause her skirt to bunch up by her thighs and he places a hand on her knee, trailing up toward her hips and hiking her skirt up even higher. It’s not enough, she needs more. More touch, more friction, more him. All reason leaves her as she reaches up to his jacket and fumbles to undo the buttons. She almost has the second one open when they hear a noise on the other side of the door.

“AH! Milady! Finished up so soon?!” It was Portia. Nadia’s low, dulcet tone replies. Indecipherable, but her voice is enough to snap the lovers out of their tryst. In a flash, Julian takes Armyah’s wrist and rushes her into the shadowed corner they had previously shared. Neither dared to speak, but they knew they was no other way out of the room. They were going to be caught. This was the end of the line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know how I'm doing!


	11. Chapter 11

Huddled in the dark corner of the library, hearts thundering in their chest, Armyah and Julian shared panicked glances as the sound of keys turning and scraping metal came from behind their only exit.

“Armyah,” the doctor hissed, “we need to leave. Now.” Another lock clicks open, echoing through the quiet room. Two muffled voices, Nadia and Portia, were heard from the hallway.

“Oops, dropped the key ring again!” Portia panicked, hoping to give her brother and the magician ample warning, “I’m so sorry, milady, my fingers are so slippery today!” Another click.

“…It’s quite alright, Portia,” the Countess’s voice was even, “perhaps I should try, on account of your slippery fingers.” She was irritated.

“Whaaaaat?” the servant’s voice raised several octaves, “I can’t have you opening doors for me, milady!” She laughed nervously, “I promise it’ll only be a moment…” Click. Julian turned to Armyah, panic-stricken.

“Armyah, listen to me,” his face was serious, his hands steeled her shoulders, “I won’t have you caught in my mess.” The magician looked at him oddly, but he didn’t give her a chance to speak, “as soon as that door opens…you run, you hide, you get out of here and find Asra.“ He looks over his shoulder to glance at the door, but still ducking down in case they come in. Click. “She’ll be too busy arresting me to notice you.”

“No,” she vehemently shook her head, “I’m not leaving you here.” Julian groaned at her defiance. If they weren’t in such a predicament, it’d be almost adorable.

“You need to go!” he begged, slightly shaking her shoulders, “Use some hocus pocus, make a hasty getaway, anything!” Click. “Whatever you have to do, Armyah,” his stormy eye was filled with pain, pleading, “you have to stay safe.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” click, “you’re not facing this alone!”

“Damn it, Armyah,” he seethed, “There isn’t room in this library for two self-sacrificing fools!” Click. “If you’re caught, you’ll hang right beside me.”

“So be it,” the magician stands her ground. Two clicks in a row, the door was almost unlocked. The doctors hands were shaking over her shoulders, “We haven’t even discovered anything! Are you really willing to die without answers?”

“I’ve been ready to die since I came back to Vesuvia,” he argued, “a few unanswered questions won’t make me turn in my coffin.” Armyah grimaced, face paling at the thought. Shaking her head, she crossed her arms. The magician made it very clear she wasn’t moving.

“I won’t leave you!” she declared through gritted teeth. Click. Julian stared at her in a mixture of awe and confusion, like she was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out.

“Fine,” he sighed, defeated, “then let’s get the hell out of here.” Releasing her upper arms, his gaze shots toward the window and follows the tree far down below. Click. “Can you fly?” he asked desperately, turning to the fortune-teller who looked at him oddly, “Turn into some giant bird?”

“NoIcan’tturnintoagiantbird!” Armyah practically shrilled. Julian raised his arms defensively, glancing around for another idea. Click. In a last ditch effort, the magician cast her magic out. Frantically reaching for something, anything. Then, she feels it: a whisper on the very edge of her energy, a hidden thing waiting to be discovered. She instinctively grabbed the doctors hand, pulling him toward the ebb in her magic. Behind a bookshelf was two marble pillars framing a wall, ivy slithering along the length of it like snakes. Using the tips of her fingers, she traces the cracks that spider up the stone. Unable to decipher what she’s doing, Julian watches her brow crease in concentration while bouncing on the balls of his feet. Click. A deeper carving divots under her finger. Brushing the foliage out of the way reveals a small carving, a symbol. A serpent-like symbol Armyah knows well, ‘Faust!’ she releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding, chest filling with hope. Asra’s magic is almost palpable. “It’s a portal,” the fortune-teller breathes, “I think I can unlock it.” Chocolate eyes flicker from Julian to the direction on the door. “I just need time.” Click. The final lock unlatches and the door slowly swings open; they were out of time. They were hidden behind a bookshelf, but it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

“Armyah…” Julian barely whispered, taking her hand in his. He looked as if he would walk out and surrender. She looked to him imploringly, shaking her head. He takes a breath and squeezes her hand, about to make a move into the light-

“Countess?” a melodious voice echoed through the library, “Were you looking for me?” Ice shot through Armyah’s veins. ‘Asra?!’ The real Asra! How did he know? Did it have something to do with the magic she felt?

“Ah, Asra…” Nadia said coolly, “Not in the library after all?” Her heels clicked as she stepped toward the magician, “where’s Armyah?”

“I sent her to the shop to pick up an ingredient for me,” he fibbed. Armyah could practically hear the Countess frown.

“Pity…” she sighed, “she could have joined us for dinner.” She waved away the thought, “you will join me, will you not?”

“I’d be delighted, Countess!” he sounded sincere. Nadia turned to leave with Portia at her heels, but Asra didn’t follow. He looks to where his apprentice is hiding and smiles when she peeks her head out from behind the bookshelf. Armyah could feel Julian stiffen, for a moment she thinks he might run out to confront him. Instead, Asra turns abruptly to follow the Countess down the hallway. Things unspoken were still hanging heavily in the air. A shimmering behind them, the stone wall ripples like water in a pond as the portal activates. Without waiting for him to respond, the fortune-teller pulled Julian through the portal and to freedom.

The sun is low on the horizon as the pair stumbled out of the archway and into the garden. The swaying willow tree swayed in greeting, the vines trail to the fountain pool and gently disturb the water. They were out of the palace, but they weren’t in the clear yet. Julian still wasn’t safe here.

“Come on,” Armyah said breathlessly, “I know a way out from here.” The doctor nodded and let her lead him down the rocky path through the garden. Coincidentally, this was the same path she took days previous that lead to the door out of the grounds and in the ally of the Rowdy Raven and the gangly doctor who invited her for a drink. A warmth spread in her chest at the memory and she only then realized how close they had been walking next to each other. Every so often their hands would brush against each other, but neither dared speak in fear of getting caught. Julian nudged her ever-so-slightly with his hip and crack and toothy grin when she looked at him. Her laugh was soundless, but genuine all the same. However, the sound of rustling leaves and footsteps ahead caused both to tense, ready to run at a moments notice.

“There you are!” thankfully, it was Portia, “whew, I wasn’t sure I’d find you!”

“Pasha!” Julian breathed a sigh of relief, “you’re alright!” The younger Devorak rolled her eyes, placing her hands on her hips.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he huffed sarcastically, “we’re not all fugitives of the law, Ilya.” She turned to Armyah and winked, “thank the Gods for your handsome magician friend, right?” The fortune-teller forced a laugh, still uneasy from remaining on the palace grounds. “Ooh boy, was I surprised to see him! I didn’t know what we were going to do and then poof!” her fingers splayed out in front of her, “there he was! You magicians are really amazing, huh?” Portia’s eyes were wide in adoration, “how did he know where to find us?”

“I…don’t know,” Armyah shook her head. She hadn’t left a note that morning. Maybe Faust was watching? She did have a habit of being in the right place at the right time. Regardless, Portia shrugged it off.

“Anyways, it’s not safe to keep moving until the guard changes shifts later,” she warned, “I can take you to my cottage in the mean time. The guards don’t come around there.” She lead the doctor and magician deeper into the garden until fireflies started to glow softly, mirroring the twinkling stars above them. Portia’s cottage looked just as inviting as it had the other day. Julian and Armyah settled on a log bench as their host bustled in the kitchen. It had gotten colder as the moon soared higher in the sky. Unprompted, the doctor had draped his waist coat around her shoulders so that he was clad only in his billowing undershirt. She watched mirthfully as his eye followed a firefly floating lazily past his aquiline nose. He looked more at ease, but something was obviously bothering him.

“Penny for your thoughts?” she offered quietly, snuggling deeper into his large jacket. He smiled down at her tenderly.

“Waste of a penny if you ask me,” he chuckled as she playfully hit his arm, “no, it’s just…I, uh, I didn’t expect to see Asra again.” The magician nodded, empathically. She didn’t know the details behind his and her teacher’s relationship, but she had gathered it was complicated, “he really saved our hides back there.” Armyah chewed her lip in thought. She had questions, but she didn’t want to pry.

“You two have history?” she asked carefully. He sighed heavily.

“Yeah…” he didn’t look at her, “looking back, I think I made a lot of assumptions about him…about us.” A blush rush across his pale face, as if he had just realized who he was talking to, “but I’m not, uh…I’m not holding on to it, you know.” The doctor coughed nervously into his gloved hand, “I think it’s better for both of us if I moved on. From what I remember, I think I might have been pretty selfish with him.” Armyah tucked her legs under her in an effort to get closer. “Gods, I hope I can be a better man than before…”

“I think you’re doing a fine job,” she smiled up at him. He returned the gesture with his own roguish grin.

“I don’t know…” he chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, “Jury is still out.”

“Then call me judge, jury, and executioner,” they shared a laugh, but she didn’t miss the mischievous glint in his eye.

“My dear, I would gladly be punished by you any day,” he purred, sending a shiver rippling down her spine.

“Is that so?” she teased, his lips hovered inches from hers, “well, in that case-”

“Soups on!” Portia burst on to the porch, causing the pair to sit up straight and at an arms length away from each other, “eat up quick, we gotta get you out of here soon.” She set a plate down in front of each of them and plopped down beside them to tuck into her dinner. Pepi wasn’t far behind her, sniffing curiously at the steaming food. Julian looked stricken, as if he had just realized they were at Portia’s home.

“Look at everything you’ve accomplished for yourself,” his voice was mournful, but proud, “you even learned to cook one of babushka’s secret recipes.” Armyah flushed a brilliant shade of crimson, her heart skipping a beat as his accent slipped through. Luckily, neither sibling seemed to notice, “I haven’t had this in a long time…it tastes just the same, Pasha.” He indulged in another hearty bite. “Though, it’s a bit undersalted, don’t you think?” Portia looked triumphantly at her brother, as if she were waiting for him to say something like that.

“You’ve got enough salt for all of us, Ilyushka,” all three laughed wholeheartedly. Conversation flowed easily and free. It’s almost enough to allow them to forget everything else that has happened. Comfortable silence followed after as Julian looked forlornly at his hands and empty plate. Pepi took the opportunity to climb onto his lap, purring loudly, and curled up into a little ball.

“I…” he paused, unsure how to continue. He scratched the small seal cat behind the ears, “you have a good life here, Pasha.” He shook his head in an effort to clear the heavy thought from his face, but only succeeded in ruffling his messy auburn hair. “ Do you think…if things weren’t the way are,” never once did he take his eye off the feline in front of him, “if I was a free man- a better man…do you think I could have this?” Portia took the empty plates inside the house to give the couple some privacy.

“I don’t see why not,” Armyah shrugged. She took his free hand that wasn’t giving Pepi attention and squeezed it reassuringly.

“Can I?” he asked, finally looking at her, “even if we clear my name, even if we spend every night together…” He didn’t look convinced. “Something will ruin this feeling,” he shook his head, “maybe I’ll sabotage it myself without meaning to.”

“Is it so hard to let yourself be happy?” the magician asked tenderly, “do you sincerely believe that you don’t deserve anything good that happens to you?” Julian breathed a laugh, it sounded almost ridiculous coming from someone else’s mouth.

“Yes…” it wasn’t a lie. Surely he must’ve did something bad, why would he feel so awful otherwise?

“We’re in this together, Ilya,” Portia’s voice made them both jump, “if you start to ruin things, one of us will stop you until you learn to stop yourself,” She placed a confident, affirming hand on her brother’s shoulder. “I believe in you,” she winked, “you’ve made it this far, haven’t you?” The doctor scoffed, but he was smiling.

“Yes, and I’ve made a mess of things along the way,” there was no malice in his voice. I was calm, unnervingly so. “Maybe I, uh…maybe my mistake was trying to do everything alone.” Both girl froze, looking between in and each other. This was a major breakthrough! They almost couldn’t believe their ears!

“Who are you and what have to done with my brother?” Portia joked, laughing wholeheartedly. Julian rolled his eyes despite himself.

“I thought if I kept you two out of it, I could keep you safe,” he explained, “but you jut barreled on ahead and involved yourself anyway.” Then, he was solemn once again and turned desperately to Armyah and his sister. “I think…I think I need your help.” He expected teasing at his expense, he was fully prepared for it. Instead, a reassuring hand on each pallid shoulder.

“We’ll figure this out, Ilya,” Portia smiled, “as long as we’re together.”

“If you want answers, we’ll find them,” the magician affirmed. Tears in his eye, he wrapped an arm around each of his companions and pulled them close for a hug. Armyah’s eyes were misty as well and Portia cried unashamedly. They stayed like that for a prolonged minute.

“I, uh…” Julian sniffed, “I’m sorry it took me so long to realize.” Portia wiped away hot tears that blurred her vision.

“No one is surprised,” she chuckled though soft sobs, “you’ve always been dense.” The doctor playfully nudged her. “But you got it, eventually.” The servant then yawned loudly, looking a little sheepish about it. “Oops, I better head to bed,” she scratched the back of her neck, “I have to work at dawn. Armyah, are you alright escorting him out of the gardens alone?” The magician nodded, standing to bid her friend goodnight. “Thanks, Armyah,” she pulled the dark haired woman into a hug, “or being on his side.” With a final smile, Portia headed back into the cottage. Pepi lifted her head to watch, but settled back down into Julian’s lap. Taking her seat next to the doctor, she looked to him. His smile faded ever so slightly as he leans back on the bench, craning his head up to the stars. Long fingers stroke idly through the cat’s fur and she purrs loudly, nuzzling into his lap. His mouth open and closed several times.

“I, uh…” he finally started, “I had fun today.” Armyah barked a laugh and looked at him oddly.

“You call being almost caught and, possibly, killed fun?” He rolled his eye, but laughed all the same.

“You know, I used to have fun all the time,” he reminisced fondly, “I used to go on all sorts adventures.”

“Oh?” the magician prodded, “what kind?” The lanky man straightened up and turned to her, eye shining like a child in a candy shop.

“Oh, all sorts! Why, do you want to hear some stories?” he flashed that roguish smile she had come to adore, “I warn you, some of them are not for innocent ears.” He dodged the hand that went to cuff him on the ear and laughed. “Before I came to Vesuvia, before the plague, I explored the world,” he sighed, dreamily, “I got into all sorts of trouble. Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time I’ve been threatened with a hanging.”He shifted slightly to angle himself closer to the fortune-teller, careful not to disturb Pepi. “Never got caught, though,” he grinned triumphantly, then winced, “well, except for that time on the pirate ship…” Armyah’s chocolate eyes sparkled with interest.

“You were a pirate?” she shouldn’t be surprised, he had a real flair for the dramatic. Julian coughed awkwardly in to his fist.

“Well, not so much pirate as, er…captive physician,” he scratched the back of his neck, “I, uh…I was onboard a merchant vessel, traveling across the Southern Sea, offering medical care for free passage.” The doctor’s brow pinched together in thought.“It was..a spice ship! That’s right! Imported from Milova,” he snapped his fingers triumphantly, “the journey was supposed to take a month, but a fortnight into the excursion we were attacked!” He delighted in her captivated expression. He wasn’t quite sure if it was genuine or she was just humoring him, but he didn’t care. “Now, this was back before I was as impressive, smooth, and suave as I am now,” a thick brow waggled

“Is that what you call it,” Armyah teased, earning her a laugh from the lanky man.

“And right before the captain took the final blow to lop off my head, I yelled…” Julian threw his hands up in mock surrender and adopted a look of horror. “Wait! I’m a doctor and that foot of yours looks gangrenous!” Laughter like chiming bells took his breath away. Pepi, startled at the exclamation, hops out of his lap and went off to chase fireflies. Once their laughter died, Julian settled back in his seat and heaved a sigh. “So began my stint on a pirate ship,” he recalled, “I learned a lot during those years. Mostly how to talk my way out of sticky situations.” Reaching over to the magician, he absentmindedly twirls a lock of curly, dark hair between his gloved fingers. “I’ve always been trouble, Armyah, I know that,” he didn’t look her in the eye, but he could feel hers on him, “I can feel it more keenly when I’m with you. Seems like it’s all I’ve gotten us into.”

“Trouble can be fun,” she offered, soothingly. His eye snapped up to hers and his hand freezes.

“Not this kind, Not the kind that will get you killed on my account,” he was serious…scarily so.

“I’m not worried,” she was telling the truth, “I’ll watch out for you if you do the same for me.” Leaning forward on her knees, she braces her hands against the gauzy material on his chest. He swallowed thickly, shaking his head.

“I can’t even watch out for myself, Armyah,” he doesn’t pull away from her touch, he doesn’t want to, “you’d be wise to run away while you still can.” She brushes a messy curl from his face and tucks it behind his ear, careful not to disturb the eye patch.

“I guess I’m not very wise then,” thee fortune-teller breathed a laugh, inching her face closer, “because I’m not going anywhere.”

“But what if-” she closes the distance between them and swallows his worries with a kiss, which he returns graciously. The night melted around them. For a brief moment, he wasn’t wanted and she wasn’t missing the majority of her life. They were Julian and Armyah, and nothing else mattered. Once they pulled away, he grinned mischievously. “I think I’m becoming a bad influence on you,” he chuckled as he leaned in once again.

“Absolutely terrible,” she agreed, jokingly, and her lips met his halfway. Shaky hands gripped her shirt and pulled her close. Their lips brush against each other again, and then again. She felt him smile against her mouth just before he pulled away, frowning. He bit his lower lip and looked out into the garden.

“We’re not out of the woods yet,” he sighed, “that key I found in my desk…I don’t know what it means or what we’ll find, but…” His cheeks flushed crimson and he looked sidelong toward the magician, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “If you’re with me, I can face it,” he rises to his feet and offers a hand to her, “whatever happens.” Grinning back at him, Armyah takes his hand firmly and leads him through the garden paths to safety. When she looks back at the man she so deeply cares for, she can feel herself grow more confident in her abilities. Like her magic is stronger when she’s near him. Her heart swelled in her chest as he follows her, exhilarated by the cool night air. They were stronger together and, come what may, they won’t face anything alone.

‘Whatever it takes.’

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know how I'm doing! You can visit me on tumblr .com/polynymph


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